


And Whither Then? I Cannot Say

by ohjustdisarmalready



Series: The Road Goes On [1]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dancetale (Undertale), Alternate Universe - Swapfell (Undertale), Alternate Universe - Underfell (Undertale), Alternate Universe - Underswap (Undertale), Found Family, Frisk (Undertale) Is a Sweetheart, Gen, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Recovery, Sans (Undertale) Has Issues, Swapfell Sans (Undertale), Trauma, Underfell Frisk (Undertale), Underfell Sans (Undertale), Underfell Sans as the final boss of the pacifist route...or is he?, but mostly love!!, i'm gonna defeat you with the power of love and also time travel, mostly just the adventures of frisk adopting all sorts of brothers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:42:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 126,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23371141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohjustdisarmalready/pseuds/ohjustdisarmalready
Summary: After a harrowing trip through Underfell, Frisk is nearly ready to go meet King Asgore. Their adoptive brother and good friend Sans would rather they go anywhere else—anywhere at all, as long as they don't get to that throne room. After all, in this world, it's kill or be killed.That's just this world, though. How about the next one over?
Relationships: Frisk & Papyrus & Sans (Undertale), Frisk & Sans (Undertale), Papyrus & Sans (Undertale)
Series: The Road Goes On [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1790866
Comments: 432
Kudos: 154





	1. Dinner With a Friend

**Author's Note:**

> The Road goes ever on and on,  
> Down from the door where it began.  
> Now far ahead the Road has gone,  
> And I must follow, if I can,  
> Pursuing it with eager feet,  
> Until it joins some larger way  
> Where many paths and errands meet.  
> And whither then? I cannot say.  
> -JRR Tolkien, _The Fellowship of the Ring_ , The Road Goes Ever On
> 
> There are actually 3 stanzas to this poem that all work like really well for Undertale, and especially for this story? This is the stanza most relevant to this specific chapter.
> 
> I'm assuming for this fic that Frisk was an abandoned/unwanted child who bounced around a lot before falling, and they've (mistakenly) decided that Sans and Papyrus are great, stable friends and role models.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The calm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter edited 10/18/20
> 
> Editing notes: **this chapter has undergone significant revision.** When I first wrote this series, it was meant to be a single oneshot, just doodling around with an idea. Since then, character motivations have changed as I've explored more backstories and ideas about how I want the story to work. In the end, the original starting chapter ended up feeling flat and ooc. I've come back and revised it to have more coherency with the rest of the plot, but that means it's changed a lot! If you first read it before Oct 2020, I'd suggest giving it a reread. I like it much better now, but I'll leave that for you to decide!

“…so,” Sans says. “you made it to the end. looks like your journey’s over, huh?”

Frisk tilts their head to the right. They’re in a restaurant with Sans because he asked them to come with him, but that doesn’t really mean their journey through the Underground is done. They still haven’t met King Asgore, for one thing. They shake their head.

Sans’s eye flicks to the right a bit before he looks back at them.

He looks stressed. He never likes Frisk going far from Snowdin. They’re a little surprised his shortcut led to Mettaton’s restaurant, and not Grillby’s, or straight home.

Sans’s jaw grits and he forges onward.

“you know, kiddo…can i be straight with you for a sec?” he asks.

Frisk nods. They’ll support Sans in whatever he wants to be.

Sans’s gaze keeps flicking around nervously, but the restaurant is still empty in their section. Nobody to overhear, even though they’re on opposite sides of a really big table and have to talk kind of loudly.

Sans apparently decides they’re safe to talk, and he meets Frisk’s eyes again, shoulders slumping a little from their wire-tight position. Frisk can imagine a world in which his eyes are softening, which is downright affectionate for Sans-in-public. They smile back at him reassuringly as his eyes settle on them.

“…kid. sib. i’ve been watching you a lot, you know? kind of comes with the big-brother territory. boss’d be pissed if i let you die.” He shrugs, smiling like he does and tilting his skull a bit. He looks a little embarrassed. “i guess i wouldn’t love it, either. but, uh. the point is. you’ve gone through a lot.”

Sans’s golden tooth glitters in the candlelight as he looks away from them.

“this world...your journey…it’s had a lot of ups and downs, hasn’t it? some kinda nice ups and some pretty terrifying downs. nobody would’ve blamed you for giving up, you know. still, it’s kinda cool that you put your head down and muddled through. sure didn’t take the easy path.”

He chuckles. “heh. to be honest, starting out there, i thought you’d be dead by hotland if my bro didn’t kill you first. after all, nobody gets second chances, right? it’s kill or be killed.”

Frisk isn’t an exception to that law. It’s just that when they get killed, they get to try again, so they can choose ‘be killed’ as many times as it takes. Frisk is very lucky like this.

“but then you showed up at the house with the boss as your new pal, not even a little maimed.” Sans shrugs. “so maybe i’m wrong. after all, you haven’t died even once, right?”

He winks. Frisk is never quite sure if his jokes about them dying are supposed to be jokes about how he knows that they’ve died a lot or just jokes about dying.

“you know, speaking of not dying. my bro and undyne seem to think things are changing around here. getting better. they’ve got this whole idea in their heads—monsters weren’t always like this, they can change, maybe if we all try real hard we can quit killing each other just ‘cause we don’t wanna do it anymore. stuff like that. they’re kinda looking forward to the future, right? and you’re right in the middle of it. would be super awkward if you just disappeared on us, and i had to tell them you ditched to go get yourself killed,” Sans says. His gaze is deceptively lazy for how piercing it is.

Frisk meets it without flinching. They’re not going to disappear, and they’re not going to abandon their family. Even if they die a thousand times, they’ll come home at the end of it. They always do.

Sans huffs something that’s almost a chuckle and shakes his head.

“truth is,” Sans says, “you’ve done a lot of impossible things. inspired a lotta change. hell, i’ve never seen this restaurant without a fresh coat of dust. and that’s…really cool. it is. don’t forget how important that is—we get a little break before we jump into the dustbowl again, and hell, maybe the boss and undyne can scheme up a way for some of this ‘mercy and forgiveness’ stuff to stick. either way, when everything goes back to normal, it’ll be worth it to have these past few months.”

Sans is encouraging, almost coaxing, as he speaks. He looks as close to content as he ever is, even as he makes a smoothing-over gesture with his hand and his voice goes soft and persuasive.

“you should enjoy it, too, kid. this is the happy ending you hoped for, right? you tried so hard, and no matter what happened, no matter how many times someone tried to teach you it was ‘kill or be killed’…you still wouldn’t do it, would you? you’re still…you. and that made other people want to be more like you, too.”

Frisk squirms. They’ve never been very good with words, they don’t know how to tell Sans that it’s not them changing anybody. Monsters like the Temmies and Vulkin and Whimsum never really wanted to kill anybody. They were all just scared. They just wanted someone to understand.

As soon as Undyne spared them, Frisk knew they were right. If even Undyne didn’t really want to kill them, then nobody did. A lot of monsters followed her lead and stopped attacking them so viciously after that. A lot of monsters stopped attacking anyone at all.

Sans doesn’t like hearing that kind of stuff, though. He’s always a little angrier when they try to tell him about how they made a new friend and how they think Shyren is secretly actually shy and really nice. He always makes sure to give them another bone attack to hold on to, and a dire warning about LOVE and that their new friends will eventually try to stab them in the back. Sans thinks that Frisk and Papyrus will only really be safe if everyone in the Underground is dead.

Sans doesn’t trust other people very much. Especially not with his siblings.

“heh. look at me, gettin’ poetic on you.” Sans chuckles, ducking his head a little. “forget i said any of that, ok? just, this is it. you worked real hard and you bled for it, real determined, and now you’re done.”

He smiles reassuringly. The expression sits oddly on his face. “you’ve earned your place here a hundred times over. you did good. it’s about time you get to rest, don’t you think? you’re a kid—just be a kid for a while. fight’s over. time to come home.”

Sans’s hands curl and relax again.

Frisk shakes their head. They’re gonna go back home to Snowdin, but not yet. They have to meet the King.

Sans stares back at them.

They stare back at Sans.

“don’t look at me like that,” he says. His claws scratch at the table’s surface. “this is it, ok? you did it. ran the race, beat the game, changed the world. isn’t that enough for you?”

He leans forward over the table. “you have a home here, don’t you? with us. you have a family. people who love you. i’m not kidding when i say you could live here. you can. we’ll look out for you.”

A little corner of Frisks heart is absolutely blooming. They ache. They know they have these things, but—it’s different, to hear it from Sans. It’s like those few times when Papyrus says he’s happy he met them, or those many times he’ll loudly proclaim their greatness (nearly comparable to his). It’s special.

Frisk would be really, really sad to lose all of that if Sans and Papyrus got executed for harboring a human.

Sans is watching them.

“you have everything you need. why keep trying? you can be happy for the rest of your life. good food, bad laughs, family. isn’t that what you want?” Sans’s pupil contracts as he speaks, and his shoulders are beginning to hunch again. “you have it all. you go any further, and you’ll lose it all. nobody gets out of here, no matter how DETERMINED. there’s only one way that can end, and trust me, buddy: you don’t want that. i’m not gonna watch you do that to yourself.”

Sans speaks with the voice of bitter experience. Something tells them that he’s not just making this up.

Frisk says, “I have to go.”

It’s a simple truth. They have to meet the King, and together, they will decide the fate of monsterkind.

Frisk wants to take down the Barrier, and let their family see the sun. They can’t hide from this—they must continue forward. Something in them is driving them onwards, relentless, certain. They’re DETERMINED.

Even if it weren’t—even if they didn’t think they could take down the Barrier, somehow—they won’t let their friends be killed for not turning them in. King Asgore will burn all of Snowdin for keeping them safe, and Papyrus would rather fight and die than stand by and let Frisk be killed, and Sans would die with his brother or he’d be killed by association. If the King finds out how long they’ve been in the Underground, so many people will die. Frisk has to meet him first, and trust that they’ll survive. Flowey said he had some ideas.

Sans’s eyes narrow.

“you ‘have to’ go and get yourself killed? says who? sounds kinda like a raw deal if you ask me,” he says evenly. Frisk knows that if they give him a name and say that monster told them they had to go meet King Asgore, there will be a lot of screaming before Sans comes home tonight.

It’s not a matter of anyone telling them. Frisk has to go. They have to do it. A little voice, growing over the length of their trip, tells them that monsterkind needs to be free. It’s not right that they’re trapped. It needs to be fixed. Frisk has a SOUL. They can fix it.

They’re sure of it. Sans is less so. He looks frustrated.

“kid, asgore will kill you,” he says, slowly. “do you get that? not like me or boss or mettaton or anyone, he’ll _kill_ you. he will knock you down until you stop getting up. if he has to break something in you to do that, he’d do it in a second. you will die. no way around it. if i let you go face him, i might as well kill you here and now.”

Being Sans’s family means getting the dubious honor of him not wanting Frisk to die. He stresses out about it a lot. It can be kinda hard, since Frisk usually needs to die at least a few times before they figure out how to make friends with any new monster they meet.

Sans is not very good at keeping Frisk out of trouble, but he tries hard.

Well, he cheats outrageously with magic and shortcuts them home whenever they get too far away for his liking, out in the world beyond Papyrus’s domain in Snowdin. But it does kind of put a stopper on dying when they have to walk all the way back from home to wherever he found them this time. It took them months to get through Hotland with how much he kept bringing them back to Snowdin.

Luckily, Papyrus always lets them go again. He gets that they have to keep going. They always come back, but they have to keep going, too.

Sans shakes his head. He chuckles, but it sounds flat.

“heh-heh. boss used to be a lot like you, you know?” Sans asks.

Frisk frowns, a little thrown by that. Papyrus seems a little too… _cool_ to be like them, right? He’s so nice, even though he’s kind of silly and tries to pretend he’s not. They know the truth. He even taught them how to use a bone to test out the snow for landmines before he put them through his landmine trap!

Unfortunately, Frisk didn’t have any bones to spare when they first met him, so they might have gotten blown up a lot if Papyrus hadn’t walked through it himself on accident, showing a clear path for them to take.

Frisk doesn’t do anything like that. They’ve never even made a landmine trap, and they don’t have any other humans to show around it even if they did. They’re nowhere near as cool as Papyrus.

“yeah,” Sans says. “it’s kind of hard to believe now, isn’t it? but he used to be…kind of a weakling, actually.”

A bead of sweat appears on his forehead as he glances around furtively. Frisk does, too—talking like that is dangerous. They don’t want Papyrus to be hurt.

There’s still no one else in the restaurant.

“i mean, this way was back,” Sans backtracks. “like, when we were babybones. i always had to keep him safe, you know? he’d run out and get himself hurt if i let him.”

That might be a way Frisk is kind of like Papyrus, to Sans. It’s hard to imagine Papyrus as a kid, but Frisk knows that he was one, once, and Sans was also there for that. They’re pretty sure Papyrus is still mad about Sans hovering like he does. Papyrus doesn’t like being hovered over.

“he kept trying to sneak out, too. thought he was invincible, stupid kid,” Sans says, not without fondness. “i was tryin’ to keep a roof over our heads and here’s this little brat sneaking off and driving me crazy, like i needed the help. then he’d try to kill me when i came home from work. helluva kid, boss.”

His grin dips into something nostalgic and sad as he speaks. Papyrus rarely speaks about his childhood, other than to make pointed statements about child-rearing and glare at Sans, who’ll make pointed statements about ungrateful brats and glare right back.

“…heh. just like you, he kept trying. wouldn’t let me convince him to stay home for anything. and one day, he waited ‘til i was at work, snuck out while i was gone.” Sans’s tone is only a little strained, which means he probably really doesn’t wanna talk about this.

“now, paps’d never hurt a fly at that point. i had a bit of LOVE to my name, but my bro, he believed people could be really good deep down inside, and he wouldn’t ever hurt anyone without givin’ them every chance to take mercy. he wanted people to be better than they were. he really believed in them.” Sans chuckles and shakes his head. “hard to believe i’m talking about the same guy, right? well, he’s changed a lot. he changed a lot that day.”

Frisk frowns. Papyrus does believe in mercy. He believes in it a lot. He always gives people a chance to live, even when he has a FIGHT with them—sometimes a very small and distant chance, sometimes so subtle it _seems_ like there’s no chance, but Frisk knows him. Papyrus is nice.

Sans and Papyrus don’t always know each other very well, though. Maybe Sans hasn’t noticed.

Sans continues, looking off into the world of his story.

“y’see, when my bro snuck out that day, i wasn’t there to protect him. i said to stay at home, but he decided he was bulletproof and went out anyway. and he got hurt. bad.” Sans’s gaze focuses on Frisk. “i know it’s easy to think it’ll never happen just ‘cause it’s never happened before, but there’s a first time for everything, right? paps got hurt so bad he coulda died. he met someone bigger and badder than him who put him down. and he got put down so hard something switched in him.”

Frisk doesn’t like this story.

“he killed the guy,” Sans says. “dragged himself home. he was hurt like nothing i’d ever seen before. he coulda died. he coulda been dead and i wouldn’t have known, because he was stupid and he left—i was workin’ on getting somewhere better for him to be, but he couldn’t be happy with what he had in the meantime, and he got hurt. bad things happened ‘cause he didn’t stay where it was safe. you get me?”

Sans watches their expression for a moment. Frisk tries to look like what he needs to see.

The moment passes, and Sans closes his eyes.

“well, gettin’ him somewhere safe didn’t end up working out, either. and paps was never the same after that. i thought that part of him was gone forever,” Sans says. “it kinda was, ‘til you came around.”

Frisk’s brow furrows and their head cocks. They certainly haven’t noticed Papyrus changing that much. In fact, it seems to Frisk that he’s always been cool and nice and brave.

Sans, seeming to sense their thoughts, smiles. “heh. don’t believe me, do you?” he asks.

“well. maybe what paps needed all along was for someone to believe in him, huh? someone who wouldn’t give up on him. ‘cause who he is around you, kiddo…s’like seein’ my brother, for the first time in a long time.” Sans looks kind of sad. Kind of happy, too. Nostalgic? Regretful? Grateful?

The table is way too big for Frisk to reach across it, so they just sort of pat its surface to approximate patting Sans’s hand. As always, his hands are laced over where a human would have a stomach, left hand on top.

Sans does glance up when they pat the table, and his eyes widen a little bit, before fading into that fond, private grin he only does when there’s no one else around.

“are you trying to…uh, ‘comfort’ me?” He laughs. “ah, that’s, hah, that’s ok, kiddo.”

Frisk pats a couple more times, insistently, to make sure Sans gets the message. He’s getting comforted whether he likes it or not.

“that’s…that ship’s sailed long ago. i didn’t do enough for paps when he needed me…so now he doesn’t need me anymore,” Sans says matter-of-factly. His fingers click dryly against each other.

“it’s ok. i’m really…proud of him, you know? even if he isn’t really who he was when we were baby bones…who he is since you came down here…i feel like that’s someone he likes a lot more than the ‘great and terrible’ papyrus.” Sans smiles brightly, even though he looks a little tired. “my bro’s happier since making friends with you than i’ve seen him in a long time. a lot of folks are. that’s…kind of what i’m tryin’a say, right? things are better now.”

Frisk smiles back as hard as they can. It’s hard for them to imagine that their new friends are actually any different after meeting them, deep down inside—surely, Papyrus must have wanted to be who he is today very badly already. He didn’t like yelling at Sans and the dogi or blowing people up with his traps. He just needed to try to not do that. Besides, it’s not like he was fooling anyone, anyway—Papyrus is really sweet, and responsible, and passionate! Anyone can see that!

Sans must see Frisk’s thoughts on their face, or their puffed-out cheeks, because he shrugs and slumps lazily.

“eh, believe me or don’t, kiddo, but you’ve made a real impact on us here. no matter what you do from here on out, this place is changing. you’ve done something i never could. you should be proud of that, you know?”

He tilts his head.

“or don’t be. i mean, it’s up to you. ‘f i were you, i woulda gave up on this place a long time ago.” He sighs…somehow.

“trying to reach for something better…it’s just gonna get you burned, kid. you gotta learn to love what you got. you love living with us, right? and we’re happier with you around. you got a lotta friends here. just stay where it’s safe, buddy. don’t run off to someone you just can’t win against. you don’t gotta sprint towards dying alone.” Sans’s eyes are uncomfortably close to pleading.

Sans doesn’t plead. Sans makes people beg for mercy or for death, but he doesn’t plead.

Frisk feels for him. They really do. It hurts and it’s scary, watching one of your siblings do something dangerous. They get worried when Papyrus goes out to do guard commander things and Sans gets that set look to his face like he’s not gonna let himself get scared. They worry when Sans mumbles about failure and uselessness and how he’s never done anything. They’re scared ‘cause Undyne’s house is burned down and she could be hurt or people could conspire against her while she’s staying on Sans and Papyrus and Frisk’s couch. They’re scared because Alphys seems really, really unhappy.

They’re scared of a lot of things.

Stuff like this is why they can’t just go home to Snowdin. Sans is always showing up in weird places and shuffling them off back home to Papyrus, or setting them up on the couch while he naps so they can’t move without waking him up, or just dumping them in “ ~~The Capture Zone~~ / ~~our garage~~ /The Human’s House” and disappearing again. It’s made getting to the palace take _forever_ , especially since they don’t want to take their chances with the River Person.

But that’s exactly why Frisk has to keep going. Sans is always certain they’ll get killed as soon as they leave his sight (and he’s often right), but Frisk always finds a way to make friends eventually. They always find in the end that the monsters they meet needed to talk to someone who would listen and care about them and show them MERCY. They’re certain that the King is no exception, and past him, the Barrier needs to fall.

Monsters, as hard as they try, aren’t evil; they’re just trapped. They’re trapped and a little crazy and a lot scared, mostly of each other. Whatever hope any of the monsters are getting from Frisk being around—which is surely not as great as Sans thinks, but maybe someone out there is a little happy they’re here—it’s temporary. Frisk is…always temporary, for people.

Bringing down the Barrier will last. Bringing down the Barrier will really, actually help everyone.

Bringing down the Barrier will mean Papyrus doesn’t need to yell and act mean anymore. Undyne won’t be so afraid of everyone losing hope. Mettaton will get to have human fans. Alphys can…probably still be a shut-in, but she won’t have to do DETERMINATION experiments anymore. Flowey can see the sun again. Ms. Toriel can stop being so scared of her children dying.

Once Frisk figures out how to break the Barrier, all their friends won’t have to be sad and scared anymore. And _then_ Sans will see that monsters aren’t as bad as he thinks they are.

Frisk isn’t sure why Sans thinks everyone Underground is so evil, but they’ll prove him wrong. They’ll show him that every person can be good, and that they deserve to be free.

They’re filled with DETERMINATION.

“in light of all that, kiddo, let me, uh, let me make a suggestion for you,” Sans says.

Frick tilts their head so he knows they’re listening.

“you gotta listen if i do, ok? you gotta promise to really think about it before you decide. ‘cause…it’s pretty important that you make the right choice. you ready?” he asks. He’s scratching at the back of his hands. Frisk thinks his bones might be rattling, a little bit.

Frisk nods solemnly, folding their hands on the table in front of them and standing up straight to show they’re paying attention. They kind of think Sans might be setting up a joke, but if he’s not, they want to really listen to him. He hasn’t really let them help him with anything yet—he always says they’re helping enough already, or that he doesn’t really want to spend the effort to FIGHT them.

Sans nods back at them, and seems to settle a little bit. He isn’t sweating as much anymore. He seems pretty resolved.

“ok. welp. here goes. you ready?” Sans says. “when you’re leaving this restaurant, and you’re thinking to yourself, i gotta go see the king, i gotta get back to the surface, i gotta do what i gotta do…”

The room goes dark.

“D o n ’ t .”

When Frisk can see again, Sans has disappeared.

Sans…

…Sans wants them to go back home.

Well, Frisk already kinda guessed that, from how much he teleports them home and all but sits on them to keep them there, but…Sans wants them to come home for keeps. He wants them to stay forever, he says. At least, he thinks he wants them to stay forever, right now. He might change his mind later.

Sans wants Frisk to come home with him and stay.

Papyrus must want that, too, or Sans wouldn’t bother suggesting it. And he always says they’re free to come and go as they please. He probably means mostly that they should go, please, but he always says they can come back, and Sans says they should stay.

They’ve already been Underground for a long time, haven’t they? They’ve had their twelfth birthday with their brothers. Papyrus made a cake with broken glass and vinegar in it. Sans gave them a slice of pie and it wasn’t poisoned.

Frisk could stay. Frisk could have a lot of birthdays. Frisk could have a forever family, not just a right-now family.

…they want to take him up on it, a little bit. A tiny, wailing part of Frisk says they’re _scared_ and they’re _tired_ and they want to go _home_ and let Papyrus and Sans mother-hen them until they die peacefully of old age. Maybe no one would mind one extra, weird, fleshy skeleton in Snowdin. Maybe this could be Frisk’s forever home.

The more they fantasize, the more real the fantasy seems…playing games like the Deadly Snowball Game with Sans, training with Papyrus, finding an armchair or something in the dump when they grow out of their favorite folding chair…but it’s always just out of reach.

 _You cannot give up just yet,_ a voice seems to tell them, carrying them out of the dream. _You are the future of humans and monsters!_

Frisk needs to bring down the Barrier. They need to.

If…somehow, Sans and Papyrus still want them after that…Frisk will try. They’ll try to make a home on the Surface with their monster family, and Miss Toriel can visit if she promises not to burn them alive or make them into pie.

Frisk will try to make a forever home with Sans and Papyrus. They’ll try to be a forever family. They’ll show their brothers all the stars in the sky and they’ll wish on every one.

The thought gives them DETERMINATION.

Yes, they’ll try that out. That dream will help them get through the rough times they’re sure to have ahead of them, bringing down the Barrier. They’ll share it with Flowey, once he meets up with them in the castle. As soon as the Barrier is down, the first thing they’ll do is go back to Snowdin and tell Sans ‘Yes.’

‘Yes, I want to stay, please keep me forever.’

…they just have to bring the Barrier down, first.

It’s a good thing Sans is lazier—and a good deal saner—than Toriel. It would suck if he freaked out and tried to kill them to keep them from progressing.

Trying to imagine Sans in Miss Toriel’s shoes, threatening to bake them into a quiche so they’ll never meet the King, is a funny enough mental image to make Frisk giggle and shake their head on their way out of the restaurant. What a silly thought. They’ll have to tell Sans and Papyrus about it later, and they’ll all have a good laugh.


	2. Judgement!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here's my take on the Judgement scene...I've always been really intrigued by the idea that Sans is the final boss for only the genocide route in classic Undertale, and only the pacifist route in Underfell.

There’s a long, golden hallway in front of Frisk. It’s filled with large, golden pillars; beautiful stained glass; neat, square tiles; a warm light that seems bright and absolute and brings out deep, deep shadows; Sans…

Huh. This might be where the gold for Sans’s tooth comes from. It’s so bright and yellow in any lighting, it seems to take the light with it. Maybe he stole part of one of the pillars.

…what is Sans doing all the way out here? Frisk hopes he won’t pop them back to Snowdin again. It’s already taken so many tries just to get this far. Maybe Mettaton would give them a ride back to one of his sets near the CORE…?

Sans flicks his cigarette to the side. Frisk is tempted to tattle to Papyrus; he hates when Sans smokes those.

“heya, kiddo,” Sans says. “long time no see.”

Frisk tilts their head. They saw him at the restaurant about an hour ago. They haven’t even died since.

“well, time is relative. anyway. i take it this means you’re not taking me up on my offer? last chance to rethink,” Sans says.

Frisk smiles at him. It was really nice of him to offer for them to stay in Snowdin…but they can’t stop before they find a way to take down the barrier. Once this is all done, they’ll ask him and Papyrus if maybe they can stay. They shake their head.

Sans sighs. He seems honestly disappointed. He gets up from where he’s been slouching on a pillar for who knows how long (probably an hour), and with two short strides, stands in the center of the hallway across from them, hands still in his pockets.

“you sure, kiddo? nothing i can do to change your mind?” he asks.

Frisk shakes their head again. Even if they tried, that voice in the back of their head would drive them forward eventually. It’s probably better just to get it over with.

“welp. normally, this is when i’d do your judgement.” Sans shuts his eyes and leans back as if there were a wall to support him. “but, i already know how this is gonna go. no matter what i say…it’s not gonna matter, is it? a person like you isn’t gonna just turn around.”

Frisk’s brow furrows. That sounds like they don’t care about what Sans has to say. They do care. They care a lot.

Sans’s eyes pop back open. “what, you want me to do it anyway? no, thanks. there’s a lot that goes into this stuff. …i’ll give you the short version, ok?”

Frisk nods hesitantly. They’re not sure what exactly they’re getting the short version _of_ , so they’re not really sure what to say.

“hey, no need to look so worried. it’s only your life, the future of your species, and the future of mine we’re talking about. don’t fret.” Sans’s grin is empty. “so. monsterkind…is pretty evil.”

Frisk frowns decisively and shakes their head, but Sans is looking beyond them.

“we kill each other, dust anyone too weak or too gentle to survive. when we do have resources, we hoard them away and murder anyone who looks too close—when we don’t, we fight to the death about it. EXP and LOVE are all that matter—more than life, more than family. ever since we got locked away in this hellhole, it’s only gotten worse. there’s no salvation for monsterkind now. if there ever was.” Sans speaks dispassionately, eyes roaming along the wall and windows as if he can see each and every monster he’s condemning.

“if you pass this hallway, you will go to the castle. you will die. king asgore will take your soul and destroy humanity. monsters will be free and on the surface, with all the space and sunlight we can ask for—and we’ll just keep on killing each other, just like we do here. only difference is, one more innocent life will be lost to get us up there. monsters won’t change. LOVE and EXP don’t just go away with a little sunshine.”

Frisk is beginning to think that Sans has some self-hatred issues. They want to give him a hug and tell him that he’s not that bad. He’s holding himself in a very particular way, though, that makes them think that he’s not really seeing them, and he probably wouldn’t be happy if they stepped any closer.

“but. and here’s the tough thing,” Sans says, “if i turn you around and pop you back to snowdin, you’ll just come right back here, won’t you? and one day, you’ll find a way through. king asgore still takes your soul, still destroys humanity. i’ve still failed as a judge. i’ve let all of monsterkind pass by my hall with dust enough to choke on on their hands, and not done shit to stop them.”

He glances to the side, sockets drooping as if he had eyebrows to lower. His grin remains.

“so, you see where i’m stuck, here. monsterkind will never reach the surface if i’m around to stop it. but how do i stop all monsters? it’s easy enough when there aren’t enough human souls to destroy the barrier, but once there are seven in the game…”

Sans shifts restlessly, eyes narrowing. “i can’t get to the human souls we’ve already got to destroy them; they’re hidden away and i can’t get to ‘em. i can’t guarantee that killing asgore would fix anything—someone else would take his place, and they’ll be just as bad. strengthening the barrier would be kinda fucked up, ‘cause if a human did happen to fall who deserved to be free, they wouldn’t be able to escape. the only thing i can use is the one human soul i do have access to. that makes it…kinda my job to keep anyone from absorbing your soul. get it?”

Frisk is not entirely sure they get it, but it sounds like Sans is explaining why he doesn’t want them to die. Or, maybe why he didn’t want them to die at first, before they made friends with him? Even though he killed them a few times back then…still. They’re not sure why he needs such an elaborate excuse to not want someone dead. Frisk wants people not to die all the time, for pretty much no reason. They definitely don’t need to hate their whole species for it.

Sans shrugs and says, “so here i’ve got a dilemma. i’ll give it to you straight: you won’t go back to snowdin and sit tight and let me keep you alive, so you’re definitely gonna die at some point, probably soon. my judgement on monsters is that they’re stuck here forever, so i can’t let anyone absorb your soul. and i’m the only monster who i know for sure _isn’t_ gonna absorb your soul, which means that wherever you die, you’d better be totally removed from everyone, or right next to me. so, you know, i’ve been protecting you.”

Frisk shifts uncertainly. Is Sans trying to say he’s just been their friend because they’re human…?

No. No, Sans is nice, and he cares about them. He offered to let them stay with him and Papyrus. He wouldn’t have done that if he didn’t like them, right? He wouldn’t just pretend to be their friend. He’s their real friend. Besides Flowey, he’s their best friend. Sometimes he says weird stuff and pretends not to like them, but that’s because Sans doesn’t know how to be friends very well. He’s just learning.

A little voice in the back of their head tells them that when Sans used to kill them with his pranks, from the start, it was always when no one else was around. No one to pretend for. Just like there’s no one around right now.

 _No_ , Frisk tells that voice. _No, Sans is nice. He’s kind of saying that he wants to be there when I die, so I won’t be alone, sort of. Or, maybe he’s saying he doesn’t want me to die around monsters that would absorb my SOUL, which is good. He’s protecting me. He cares about me._

Oblivious ~~or uncaring~~ to their internal argument, Sans continues explaining.

“i thought about getting you out of the underground,” _See, he doesn’t want me to die!_ “but that ain’t happenin’, ‘cause you won’t absorb a boss monster’s soul even if i killed them for you.”

That’s true. Frisk nods in agreement. Sans doesn’t trust the Underground, so he wanted Frisk to not be here, but they wouldn’t absorb someone’s SOUL no matter what. This is something Sans is saying that makes sense.

“so. where i’m at. sooner or later—probably sooner—you’re gonna die underground. i need to make sure it’s away from anyone who’ll take your soul, and make sure your determination doesn’t have you sticking around to get found after. are ya pickin’ up what i’m puttin’ down?” Sans has removed his hands from his pockets and laced them in front of him again. He pins Frisk with a sharp look.

Frisk…doesn’t think they are picking up what he’s putting down. They get the problem, sort of—Sans is saying that he’s worried about their SOUL in a really weird and kind of scary way. He does that. But they don’t get what Sans is saying they should do about it. The voice in the back of their head insists that they do understand what he wants, but they don’t.

Maybe Sans is saying all this stuff because he’s not sure what to do, either. Frisk takes a step forward, gestures to themself, and points down the hall past Sans. The only answer is to keep going.

Sans’s grin gets a touch more strained.

“anyone ever told you you’re a stubborn little shit?” he asks, sounding almost impressed. “look, be a good human and just cooperate for a sec, ok? ‘cause i spent a lot of effort on this.”

Frisk nods hesitantly. Maybe Sans does have his own solution in mind? Or maybe he wants to shortcut them to the King’s palace? They take another step and hold out their hand so he can take it.

Sans pinches his sockets shut in disbelief, rubbing between them.

“like a lamb to the fuckin’…” He shakes his head.

Seeing that he is not going to take their hand, Frisk trots forward another hesitant step. Something about this conversation feels off. The voice in the back of their mind is screaming at them not to get any closer; freezing up their shoulders so a shiver goes down their spine. Frisk is worried, though. Sans threatens to kill them all the time, but normally he doesn’t sound so upset about it. Is he feeling OK? Does he need help?

Frisk looks solemnly into his eye sockets until he reluctantly opens them. His grin is shaky.

Whatever he’s talking about—as scary as he’s sounding right now—it seems like he’s really stressed. He doesn’t want Frisk to die. That’s probably hard enough on its own, because Frisk dies kind of a lot. He really doesn’t want monsters to leave the Underground. He’s scared. Frisk is scared, too.

They don’t know what they’re gonna find at the end of their road, and that’s probably terrifying for Sans like it is for them. So he’s saying weird stuff in this golden hallway because he’s trying to decide whether or not he feels OK about Frisk meeting the King of Monsters. It sounds like he probably doesn’t feel that OK about it. That’s alright. It’ll all work out in the end, Frisk is certain of it. Sans will see that he has nothing to worry about once they meet the King.

Frisk walks forward one final step and nudges under one of Sans’s arms so they can give him a hug around his ribcage. They squeeze tight, so he can know that they’re strong. They burrow into his coat so he can know that they trust him. They close their eyes and take a deep breath so he can know that it’s OK to relax.

Sans’s bones rattle. He makes a sound that’s a little like a hiccup. Sans is kind of allergic to hugs.

“…you’re not…making this easy on me, kiddo,” he says. His arms are held awkwardly up to avoid contact with them.

Frisk is trying to make it easier, if he would just let them hug him. They squeeze more insistently and pat him. _There, there_. They’re not really sure what saying that is supposed to do to help, but they imagine it.

It’s gonna turn out good. It’s all gonna turn out good, and everyone will be happy, and Sans will refuse to admit he was ever worried. They try to impart this certainty onto Sans.

With his bones shaking like a slammed door, Sans slumps. He lets his arms collapse onto Frisk. He holds on too tightly at their neck and the center of their back, and his claws kind of dig into their skin through their sweater.

For a long moment, Sans holds onto Frisk, and they allow themself to feel cautiously optimistic that he has finally let them help him, even without a FIGHT. Even his magic wraps around their SOUL, and they feel it turn blue.

“you just…don’t get it, do you?” Sans asks quietly. His claws dig into their skin, and Frisk makes a tiny noise of discomfort. “i don’t—you’re a tool. a sentence i’m giving _somebody else_. none of this shit is real, none of it has ever been real! i don’t give a damn about you, you annoying, saccharine brat! the only reason you’re still alive is because you won’t stop _coming back_! but you know what?”

Sans is yelling, saying things he hasn’t said since he made friends with them in Snowdin, and Frisk just holds on tighter. He’s lying. He’s just lying because he’s scared. Sans cares about them.

They’re jerked back by the scruff so that they’re dangling in front of Sans, refusing to let go of his jacket. He snarls at them, grinning meanly.

“i did it. i found a way to keep you from ever coming back to this hellhole, so don’t even try. you got that, kid? if you know what’s good for you, _stay gone_. there’s nothing here for you but death and monsters.” He laughs. Frisk’s eyes sting, even though this isn’t the cruelest thing he’s ever said to them. It’s not, so there’s no reason to be scared or sad or believe him at all.

“and, hey. kiddo?” A spark of mirth that looks a little less dead inside appears in Sans’s eyes, and Frisk tugs on his jacket, trying to tell him that they want to be put down now. Maybe their tugging looks a little like frightened squirming. The voice in the back of their head is panicking.

“if you ever do manage to crawl your way back here, well,” Sans winks his right eye. He never winks his right eye. “i’ll be waiting to take you right back out again.”

Something big and white is floating behind Sans—many big, skull-like monsters. Frisk isn’t sure what’s happening—they refuse to know what’s happening.

Sans says, “In this world, it’s k i l l o r b e k i l l e d .”

Gravity shifts around them. Frisk clings to Sans’s jacket for a moment before the grip on their SOUL tears them away. Sans’s left eye is ablaze; his right is black and dead.

They feel the cold not-feeling of a shortcut and see the gaping maw of a machine they’ve never seen before in a white lab as they’re falling, falling, and they look back at Sans’s dead right eye and empty grin and sharp, glinting teeth. They shout “Sans!” with a crackling voice, reaching out for help…

For a moment they hang suspended, an instant between being lost and being saved. With Sans’s hand outstretched to control his magic, it almost looks like he’s reaching back for them. Sweat is beaded on his temples and below his eye sockets. His expression is hard but for a single, wild hope. The kind of hope that would make a person do anything.

While they’re looking at Sans, they’re not looking at his magic. A bone attack makes its home in their heart with a whistle and a _THUNK_. The force pushes them one last inch. Their teetering point collapses. They fall into the machine.

As they go, they imagine that he says, “heh. better luck in the next one, human.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's our premise! Are you ready? :D :D


	3. Fall Into Wonderland

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frisk falls. Frisk lands. At least one of these things probably didn't go how it was supposed to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Confession: I don't actually know a bunch about the various fanon AUs in Undertale, just that they exist and a basic sketch for each of them. My version of them might be a little different from "official" versions that exist. I've seen some fanart, so visually the characters are pretty similar, at least? For anyone confused, I'll begin putting briefings at the start of each chapter that introduces something not in the game.
> 
> I'm not putting anyone's speech in all caps because I love the loud bois but I love my readers' eyeballs more. Idk why but all caps gives me hella eyestrain. I didn't want to do that to you.
> 
>  **Briefing:**  
>  Underswap: What if everything was the same, but Sans had some of Papyrus's core character traits and vice versa? Everyone is "switched" with another character (Alphys with Undyne, Toriel with Asgore) in temperament. This leads to Asgore being the one in the Ruins while Toriel is Queen, Flowey being an animated Temmie doll instead of a flower, etc.

Frisk falls through the machine.

On the other side, the world _isn’t_ —it isn’t dark, but there’s no light. It isn’t cold, but there’s no heat. It isn’t empty, but nothing exists to fill it.

Their mind shatters to pieces like their SOUL when it breaks, and each piece bears witness to the nonexistence that surrounds and permeates them. The only thing that is real is that they are falling. One part of them, and then another, thinks that perhaps they are falling past something—that there are little starbursts of existence that fly by, narrowly missed in their path. They don’t hit any of them.

And then there is a blur of light and air and _sense_.

Frisk falls into it, and falls, and falls, and lands. Sharply. With a thud. On a bed of golden flowers.

They land face-down. They don’t know this because of gravity; they’ve lost all sense of up and down. They don’t know this because they see it; their eyes close quickly against the light around them. They don’t even know it because of the soft flowers in their face, or from memory. No, something more pressing tells them that they’ve landed on their front.

The bone attack lodged in their SOUL has completely impaled it. Their landing jostled the sharp bone before anything else, and pushed it clean to the hilt into their SOUL. As they blink the darkness from their vision, they see that the tip pierces their shirt through the other side.

They open their mouth to call for help…

_“if you ever manage to crawl your way back here…i’ll be waiting to take you out again.”_

They close it.

 _Okay,_ they think, to that little voice inside of them that had definitely seen this coming. The voice that they totally ignored because they _trusted him_ —

_“i don’t give a damn about you, you annoying, saccharine brat!”_

— _Okay_ , _you can say it. You told me so. I should have listened to you._

Nothing echoes in their mind but their own thoughts.

And even those, it seems, have abandoned them.

Frisk pushes themself to their hands and knees. Papyrus would be disappointed ( _“Do not ever allow your opponents to see you kneel! You are better than that, human! The Great and Terrible Papyrus demands it!”_ ). Or would he be proud of them for getting up?

_“none of it has ever been real!”_

Or did he ever care about them at all?

… _Sans_. Frisk looks—up? And around? Even as they lunge into a roll out of the flower patch they landed on. Their whole body is in agony as they land on their side, watching for the last bone attack that will finish them off, but—

But there’s nothing.

There’s no one here except for Frisk and a patch of golden flowers and the cave walls that lead up, and up, and up to a patch of sunlight too distant to fathom.

Sans isn’t still attacking them. He isn’t even here.

Frisk is pretty sure that whatever void they fell though, its memory already fading in their mind, they weren’t ever supposed to fall out of it. _“i found a way to keep you from ever coming back,”_ he said, and apparently he meant it. Frisk doesn’t know where they are now, except that it feels like it’s a long way away from home.

Their mind feels empty and echoey as they stumble to their feet. They hurt, so badly. They can’t run like they want to, away from the fall, away from the flowers, away from the tear in their shirt. But they can move. They hunch terribly, and limp in a barely-controlled slump to the cavern wall.

They think about looking up again. They don’t. They lean on the wall heavily and shake off the spots that have begun to encroach on their vision.

Nowhere to go but forward. They imagine that the little voice in the back of their head would say, _Don’t wait around for him to finish the job!_

They’re pretty sure Sans isn’t coming—they’re pretty sure nobody is coming. But that little voice was right, was right about all of it, and they think it would tell them not to stop here. So they don’t. They move away at the pace of an unthreatened thundersnail, clinging to the wall and shuffling resolutely onward. They don’t stop when they hear, “hOI! I’m TEMMIE!”

They do stop when an encounter is triggered, but only because the boundaries of the bullet box don’t allow them to keep moving. They can’t understand what’s being said to them—something about catching tem flakes, or being confused. Bullets approach them and they dodge. Their HP is already mostly gone. Something else is said to them. More bullets. More talking. A lot of bullets.

_Sans, framed by huge, skull-like monsters. Surrounded. Their massive jaws open, but it’s the red bones that are circling the encounter that they should have been watching. It’s kill or be killed—_

“What an awful creature, treating an innocent—child!” Someone else is speaking. Something warm and soft surrounds them. Darkness enfolds them.

* * *

When Frisk wakes up, they are in a familiar…unfamiliar…bedroom. They’re certain that they’ve been here before…maybe in a dream, or a distant memory. Nothing feels quite right. It’s like seeing their face without a mirror.

There is a steaming how thermos of tea sitting on the floor. They ache to their core, but they don’t feel the injuries from before. They could probably survive a couple of encounters, if they run into any monsters. More if they can get some healing items; they’ve only got a couple things, and most of those were from Sans and Papyrus. They probably shouldn’t eat any of those. They don’t want to take the risk that anything is poisoned. They think poisoning would be a painful way to die.

They take the tea. _Smells like comfort_.

Outside of the room they woke up in, there’s a neat, tidy little house. It’s a little like what Toriel’s house might look like, they think, if it had not been quite so filled with dust and stains and broken things.

“Child, are you awake?” A voice is behind them.

Automatically, Frisk whirls around, triggering an encounter themself before the monster can get the drop on them. The turn-based combat system of encounters has been their saving grace a hundred times over, keeping them from a swift bullet in the back while they were focusing on other things. As the encounter HUD appears, Frisk notes that their HP is at a decent, but risky, 14 points.

Their opponent is a large, well-kept goat monster. His clothes are clean, his hems and claws aren’t ragged, and his beard is neatly trimmed. He looks soft?

His name is already yellow—a trick, obviously, to remove them from the safety of the FIGHT system. Frisk CHECKs him first, to try to get a clue of what he might need in order to really SPARE them and make friends.

His name is…Asgore.

Asgore.

Asgore?

_King…?_

“Young one, there is no need to be frightened,” Asgore spends his turn to SOOTHE. That’s not an option Frisk has ever seen before. “I will not harm you. I am merely…a gardener, here in these Ruins. You have fallen quite a long way. Will you allow me to care for you?”

Toriel wanted to care for them…after she wanted to kill them. And then she wanted to kill them again when they left. Asgore looks kind of like her, so…maybe he also wants that? To care for them and keep them from leaving?

Experimentally, Frisk tries to TALK to Asgore. They open their mouth—

_“annoying, saccharine brat!”_

—but nothing comes out.

That’s okay, it’s okay. In fact, it’s probably for the best that they don’t talk. They don’t want to irritate him by being too loud.

Asgore sends a very slow, dispersed wave of green fire at them.

“It seems that you are hurt,” he says. “I will heal you, and then I could show you around the Ruins? It is a lovely day for a game of catch.”

Frisk doesn’t think monsters can fake the color of their magic, so they risk running into a single flame, dodging nimbly out of the way of the others. It kind of aches when it hits their SOUL, but no damage is done.

No healing, either. Frisk glances down during their turn.

Ah. Sans’s attack is still lodged in their SOUL. That’s probably what was hurting.

From across the FIGHT, they don’t think Asgore can see the bone attack—it’s the same bright red color as Frisk’s SOUL, and it’s lodged so close that only the blade really sticks out. That’s blocked from view by Frisk’s body while their SOUL hovers in front of them. They might be able to dig it out by the hilt if they were willing to stick their hand in their SOUL, but…they’re really not. If moving it hurts this much already, what if it’s healed into their SOUL? Is it a part of them now? What if they take it out and their SOUL breaks and they have to go back to their last SAVE? They don’t even know when that _is_. Probably back in the bedroom, and then they’d just have the attack back again.

No, it’s better to leave it alone. They should probably just never touch it again.

For his turn, Asgore sends another wave of healing magic, frowning. They allow several flames to hit them this time, to no difference in their HP.

Seems their max HP is 14/20 now.

 _Well, if he's like Toriel_ …they SPARE Asgore cautiously, prepared to start the FIGHT back up if he seems ready to attack them.

He frowns for a moment at where their HP bar was, but shakes it off. “Very good, young one! That was a great example of what you should do during a FIGHT! As a human living in the Underground, monsters may try to attack you. But worry not! When you are in a FIGHT, simply greet your opponent with a friendly, ‘Howdy!’”

And so Asgore explains a very strange idea of a FIGHT.

* * *

Frisk is offered a home with Asgore, who is apparently not actually King Asgore, or at least he doesn’t tell them so if he is. He explains the Underground to them as a bright, cheery place where friends are just waiting to be made. Frisk reserves judgement—this is what they wanted, right? To believe that the Underground could be peaceful?

They’re willing to believe it, but they aren’t going to be stupid.

Asgore seems troubled by their insistence on stocking up on healing items, and even more so by their sensible precautions whenever they leave the house. If Sans were here, he would never let them leave without a bone attack—

…if Sans were here, he would probably kill them with a bone attack.

At least their stay in…wherever they are allows them to investigate the attack that still pierces through their SOUL. Since it’s in so deep, and since its color exactly matches that of their SOUL, no monster has ever noticed it in an encounter—they always face Frisk’s SOUL head-on, and the attack can only really be seen from their own perspective, or perhaps by someone standing very close to them.

Their HP seems to have taken a permanent dip, another thing that Asgore frets over. It caps out now at 14/20, no matter how much they rest or heal. Probably due, again, to the bone attack impaling their SOUL. If they take too many hits head-on, or walk directly into their SOUL, the sharp end of the bone cuts into their physical body, which pretty much means dodging has to go sideways or backwards.

It’s a good thing that Asgore is mostly right, and monsters around here want to not fight Frisk almost as badly as Frisk wants to not fight monsters. Every monster they encounter attacks a few times, practically for courtesy’s sake—no cheating, no lying, no fake SPAREs. Never once are they attacked outside of a battle. Frisk never has to do more than one or two ACTs of friendship before their opponents’ names turn yellow and they lose all will to fight.

In their mind, Frisk is calling this place _Wonderland_.

They spend two days waiting for the other shoe to drop, but when they actually get _healed_ during a battle, by a Vegetoid monster that they’re not even _friends_ with yet, they happily decide that Asgore is less of an exception and more of the rule. It’s like all the fear that hangs over the Underground has been lifted away, and monsters can be as nice on the outside as Frisk knows them to be on the inside. No one has said the phrase ‘kill or be killed,’ even once.

No one but Sans, in their dreams.

Every night, Frisk dreams. It’s the one dark spot of this dreamlike place that they’ve found themself in. They don’t know which they hate more—they dream of Sans, some nights, gleefully destroying them; or their dreams of a woman’s voice that’s almost a softer cousin of Toriel’s, which urges them to keep going and stay determined. Sans dreams they hate because they wake up sobbing and choking on voiceless screams; not-Toriel dreams they hate because they can never sleep afterwards, not even for a moment, and they’re so very tired.

It used to be a man’s ragged voice that urged them onwards, but the restlessness is the same. They tremble just thinking of the Barrier, and the golden hallway that lies before it, but they have to move onwards. They will never be able to rest if they don’t.

Besides, Sans isn’t waiting on the other side of the door that they’re sure exists in the basement. Wherever they are, Sans is long gone. So they buy plenty of fries and burgers from the nice green flame lady in the Wonderland version of the Ruins, they tie together all of the threads that have been cut or ripped in their sweater, and they walk down the stairs of Asgore’s home.

Like Toriel, he seems to have a sixth sense for Frisk being on the stairs, because he appears almost immediately once they get to the bottom. He’s still dirty from gardening.

“Child, this is no place for you to play. Come upstairs and help me in the garden,” he says.

When he reaches out a paw for them, Frisk does exactly what they did with Toriel—they dive to the side, roll to their feet, and run away as fast as they can. He’s faster than them, but that’s fine. He’s also more reluctant to start a FIGHT than Toriel was. They half-expect him to shatter their SOUL instantly, but he chooses to pursue instead.

“Human, please! You cannot go down this way. Please come upstairs,” Asgore tries, hurrying after them. He tries to reach for them again, but Frisk is good at dodging.

It isn’t until the door is in sight that Asgore hurls a barrier of orange flame in their way. He doesn’t know that they know about orange magic. Frisk sprints through it.

He tries again with regular white fire magic. Frisk takes the damage and sprints through it.

Before they can get to the door, he cuts in front of them and triggers an encounter.

That’s something they can’t actually escape—they would only end up running away from the door. They’re glad they stocked up on healing items. They hold their ground and SPARE.

* * *

Frisk moves away from the Ruins with a heavy heart, clutching their thermos of tea. Asgore is…really nice, and when they think of living with him—

_“why bother ‘progressing’? just give up. stay. we’ll take care of ya, kiddo.”_

—actually, they don’t want to live with Asgore. They don’t want to live with anyone. They want to run away and through the Barrier and never look back.

They don’t know what Wonderland really is—whether it’s a trick or a trap or some kind of dream—but they’re determined to be long gone before the rug is pulled out from under them. They continue through the mockery of the strange Temmie and out the door to…

Snow.

Like Snowdin.

Like where they first met Sans.

No, Sans isn’t here. Wonderland is—maybe probably not as safe as it pretends to be, but Sans _isn’t here_. He hasn’t come to find them. He probably thinks they’re dead. He _killed them_.

They clench their fists, brace against the cold, and leave the relative safety of the Ruins. They miss their stick, which doesn’t seem to have made the fall with them. They also miss their sense of safety and security, such as it was.

No one on the other side of the door. There’s a familiar huge bush, but no camera…no, there it is, it’s just on the left instead of the right.

They check their own stats nervously. 14/20 HP, 10 ATK, 10(+5) DEF. Faded ribbon equipped. Sans’s bone attack equipped.

They’re not sure why the attack that remains in their SOUL counts as an equipped weapon, except that it is a weapon, and they’re sort of holding it? They wish they had a way to unequip it, just so they could pretend to have a usable weapon. Not that it would make a difference. They just want something to hold.

It doesn’t matter. They still refuse to hurt anyone, and Sans _isn’t coming_. They don’t need a weapon.

Frisk steps to the side of the bush, hopefully out of the camera’s field of view, and gives themself a firm hug. _It’s gonna be okay_. They have to stay determined.

They open their mouth one more time, to try to say it out loud when they’re all alone and there’s nothing to be afraid of…but a memory flashes in, half-formed, that kills their voice before it can begin.

Frisk shivers. They should just…keep going.

The path to Snowdin isn’t much different from what they remember. The snow is whiter. The pulverized bits of bark across the path are now a fully-formed stick, too big to move. The trees still look dense and foreboding.

They still feel…watched.

It’s nothing. Frisk shuffles their feet over the packed snow of the path, making crunching footsteps that drown out the sounds of anyone following them. Which no one is. They’re fine.

A loud _CRACK!_ behind them begs to differ.

Frisk comes to a complete stop, mid-step.

They don’t want to look.

They don’t want to get taken by surprise, either. Having to go back to their last SAVE would mean having to escape Asgore again. And talking to the strange Temmie. They need to look and see if anyone’s there.

Bracing themself, Frisk turns around and walks quickly back to the stick. It’s split in two, with a clean, angled cut that reminds them of bone attacks, and an evening spent with Papyrus as he showed them how to split a summoned bone at a sharp enough angle that both halves can be used as bladed attacks.

This isn’t like that, because it’s a stick, and it’s too heavy to pick up and use for a weapon. It’s just…a coincidence. That this thick, heavy stick has just happened to snap in half, right after they passed it.

If Sans were here, which he isn’t, running wouldn’t help them. He’s fast with his shortcuts and knows this section of Snowdin—the section of the real Snowdin that also looks like this—he knows the woods better than anyone. All they can do is keep walking forward, and prepare to dodge very quickly.

It seems like that’s all Frisk can do most of the time. Luckily, they’re pretty good at it.

This time, when they turn around and keep moving, they go at a slower pace, setting their feet carefully to minimize noise. They keep their head a little bit tilted to try to listen better. Their eyes dart in every direction, trying to pinpoint any movement at all without moving their head too obviously.

Their empty hands flex. They wish they had something to hold, like Flowey’s roots or a weapon or their stick. They don’t, though. They can see the bridge and gate approaching in the distance…they don’t see the razor wire trap strung across it, but the point of razor wire is that it’s hard to see. They’ll be careful crossing.

They hear something. Something is shuffling behind them. They pinpoint the sound in their hearing and speed up. Up close, the razor wire still isn’t visible…should they test it with a hand or a foot? Hand, probably, because losing a foot means they can’t run…?

“HUMAN!” A voice, creepily bright and cheerful in the tense forest, speaks behind them. He’s closer than they thought.

 _“You’re too jumpy, human! You cannot dodge until your opponent has already released their attack, or they will simply change their aim and corner you! Again!”_ Papyrus’s voice rings in their head. Frisk comes to a smooth, slow halt, knees slightly bent and weight on the balls of their feet.

“That is no way to greet your new friend! Turn around, and shake my hand!” The voice is male, and _loud_ , and…who are they kidding, it’s exactly like Sans on nine shots of espresso. It’s _Sans’s voice_.

They turn one foot. They ease their weight onto it. They turn the other. Ease their weight back. Finish the turn. Slowly. Controlled. Not too jumpy.

Sans the skeleton grins back at them.

Their brain blurs over the differences—something about his clothes doesn’t seem right, or his teeth, or his eyes—but it’s Sans, he’s here, and Frisk is running at a dead bolt before they can _think_. Through the wide gate—no razor wire, apparently, though they barely keep their arms in front of them to check—down the path, ignoring the call of, “Ah! Human! That is not very friendly, either! Please stop—” and darting down the path. They don’t know where they’re going. This is terrible, strategically; they’re not thinking but they can’t stop, breath coming in short, choppy gasps, running—

—directly into Sans, who holds his hands out to catch them. He holds onto their sweater— _He holds on too tightly at their neck and the center of their back, his claws dig into their skin through their sweater_ —he catches their SOUL with blue magic— _Even his magic wraps around their SOUL, and they feel it turn blue_ —and he doesn’t attack— _Sans holds onto Frisk, and they feel cautiously optimistic_ —and he— _His claws dig into their skin_ —he’s— _Frisk clings to Sans’s jacket_ —Sans is— _right eye black and dead_ —

Time passes. Frisk loses it, for a little while, and it slips by.

After some amount of moments, some background noise stops and it’s just Frisk’s gasps, jagged and choked-off, and their wet face and their aching muscles and the burns from their encounter with Asgore, and a pair of hands, one on their shoulder and another on their hair. They’re holding onto—something. A blue bandanna. The magic on their SOUL has disappeared.

The hand on their shoulder is firm and unmoving. The one on their hair is making a subtle patting motion.

Frisk tries to convince their hands to let go of this stranger’s bandanna. They can’t make a single finger relax.

A single shudder rolls through them and they go still.

“…Are you asleep, human?” The stranger’s voice is different from Sans’s, now that they’re listening for it. Its accent, its cadence is all wrong. Sans at his most caffeinated still couldn’t make a convincing show of being…hopeful?

Frisk shakes their head and lets it rest against the stranger’s shoulder. Their breathing begins to slow from broken gasps to deep, panting breaths. Their whole body feels buzzed on adrenaline.

“Okay,” says the stranger. “That’s really good, human! I’m proud of you.”

Frisk hiccups.

“Shh, shh. Do you want me to stop talking? It was scaring you earlier, wasn’t it?” The hand patting their head moves to the back of it, and— _holds on too tightly at their neck_ —Frisk tears out of the stranger’s grip, staggering backwards.

There, with both hands still held out as if to catch them, is a skeleton.

His eyes are blue and not red, his clothes are a white and blue armor of some sort, he’s wearing…mittens…? His teeth aren’t sharp and none of them are golden. He has a blue bandanna around his neck.

Cautiously, Frisk gathers themself, standing a touch too far away for a comfortable conversational distance. They stick out their hand.

The skeleton’s eyelights are drawn straight towards it, but they’re not holding a weapon. They keep it stubbornly upturned and take a single step closer, so he can reach it without getting any nearer to them.

“Oh, you want to…ah! I see! Of course you want to meet me properly! Well! Fear not, human, for I! Am the Magnificent Sans! A superb sentry on the lookout for humans!” The skeleton’s eyes are…starry, for lack of a better term. He takes their hand gently in both of his, and bobs it up and down rapidly. Frisk is reminded of sitting on a laundry machine.

“Ah, but! There is no need to fear! You see, well…” the skeleton…Sans?...Blue Sans looks sheepish for a moment, letting Frisk’s hand free in favor of scratching at the back of his skull. “Normally! I would capture you now! As a very good sentry and excellent puzzle-maker, this would be a simple task for me! But, well…I feel like we’ve had a moment, now. I would feel bad just capturing you! And you seem very frightened already, so I don’t think you would like being captured very much right now!”

Frisk tilts their head. This Blue Sans is very…exuberant. And nice. No one has ever not-captured them because they seemed scared before, and they’ve been scared a lot. Would they not like being captured right now…?

After a moment of assessment, they wave their hand in a so-so motion. The past couple of hours have been pretty tiring, plus however much time they lost after meeting Blue Sans and getting scared. Not that they need to be scared, because Blue Sans must be a creature of Wonderland and nothing at all like Real Sans, so he’s probably very nice and nonviolent and not going to attack them. He’s definitely a nice skeleton that they don’t have to be afraid of. For sure.

It’s hard to say whether whatever lies ahead is better or worse than Blue Sans capturing them. Still, they probably wouldn’t love being captured on top of everything else they’ve done today. They wish they could make a SAVE before deciding, so they could try either way.

Blue Sans seems pleased enough with their answer, anyway.

“Exactly! So, while it would be child’s play for me to capture you, I will instead ask you to perform a favor for me! Can you do that, human?” Blue Sans proposes…and also poses. It’s pretty heroic.

Blue Sans…is really nothing like Real Sans, isn’t he? Frisk shrugs. They’re not going to agree to die or anything, or get hurled through terrifying machinery, or try out a new electricity buzzer…but if it’s something like helping organize bone attacks or trying out new traps, doing Blue Sans a favor might be okay.

“Ah, a wise choice! You wish to hear what you must do! I shall tell you. What I want you to do is! Well.” Blue Sans glances down the path. “My brother, Papyrus…has never seen a human! And he’s been kind of down, lately. But! I’m sure that meeting you would cheer him right up!”

Frisk tries to imagine Papyrus and Blue Sans in a room together. All they can see in their mind’s eye is Papyrus chasing Blue Sans around with a bone sword. Small amounts of laughter and large amounts of screaming. They don’t think the two would get along.

“Oh! If you are still not sure…I shall prepare a clever ruse! So that you can get to meet Papyrus and see how cool he is, before he meets you!” Blue Sans grins unsettlingly. Frisk can’t see any violence in his face at all. It’s downright eerie.

“Come, human, hide behind this lamp! Papy probably left it here. He’s always leaving weird stuff around! I will distract him while you hide, and you can get to know him! See, he’s on his way right now!”

Frisk isn’t so sure about this plan, but they get behind the lamp. Its shape is very convenient. They can hear snow crunching as someone…slowly…approaches.

“‘sup, bro?” a new voice asks. Papyrus…? It doesn’t sound like Papyrus. Maybe Papyrus with a bunch of sleeping pills.

“Papy!!! I am having! A great day! Today is a FANTASTIC day!!!!!” Blue Sans exclaims. Frisk isn’t sure, but they think he’s probably posing again.

“heh, nice. any, uh, any reason for…?”

“Nope!”

There’s silence, for a beat. Frisk doesn’t think that Tired Papyrus bought that.

But he decides not to say anything about it, apparently. “hey, what’s with this lamp?”

Snow crunches nearer to them, and Frisk prepares to dodge. Papyrus never expects them to flee towards him, and if they can get under his left…

“Ah! That’s! Not a very interesting lamp! I would go so far as to say it’s pretty boring, actually! Maybe! You should, practice talking to it? Introduce yourself!” Blue Sans says. He sounds like he's riding a fine line between lying nervously and encouraging happily. Tired Papyrus groans.

“bro…” he says. “c’mon…this is embarrassing.”

“Oh, right! You’re still ashamed about last week, when you accidentally introduced yourself twice to Mettablook and then told him you were distracted because he has eyes!” Sans explains, loudly. “When in fact you meant to be very charming and—”

“yeah, i get it, you don’t need to explain it to me, i was literally right there, i am currently hiding by your sentry station so i never have to face my failures again…” Tired Papyrus sounds sheepish. Frisk is pretty sure Real Papyrus would have killed Blue Sans by now. Or at least gotten flustered and yelled a lot.

“Sorry, Papy! I thought it would be relevant exposition. For no one in particular! In any case. I think it would be a great idea to practice introducing yourself to this conveniently-shaped lamp! I’m sure it will be very friendly and nonjudgmental!” Sans says.

Frisk tries to be friendly and nonjudgmental.

“i don’t…okay. if you really think it’ll help,” Tired Papyrus says. He sounds mostly like he might be humoring his brother. “um, hi, lamp? i’m, my name is, papyrus? i’m…sans’s brother? this is, i feel stupid. do i have to do this?”

“You’re doing great! Keep going!” Blue Sans encourages.

“ugh. i like, uh, music? no, everybody likes music. what’s something better? i’m okay at baking…? um, nice weather? i’m…screwing up introducing myself to a lamp.” There’s a scuffing sound in the snow.

“No, I think you did great! I’m sure the lamp is charmed by your humility and friendliness!” Blue Sans says. “Next time, try saying, ‘hi, i’m papyrus! it’s nice to meet you! i’m very smart and i’m a great friend. do you wanna hang out and do some puzzles?’”

“who introduces themself by saying that they’re smart?” Tired Papyrus protests.

Without missing a beat, Blue Sans says, “It always works for me!”

“i’ll…keep that in mind for next time,” says Tired Papyrus.

“Great! And in the meantime, it is time to…recalibrate! Your! Puzzles!!!” Blue Sans sounds like he’s announcing a great prize. Maybe he is? Trap testing is kind of fun sometimes, so maybe recalibrating puzzles is like that, Frisk decides.

“it is?” Tired Papyrus asks.

“Yes! I already took all of mine down. We’re gonna have a great afternoon doing puzzles! You can set them all up from here to Snowdin! I’ll be leaving my station in ten minutes with somebody who’s gonna try them out, so make sure they’re your best!”

Tired Papyrus tries to argue, “sans!” but Blue Sans denies him.

“Nope! Go on, time is ticking! I’m prepared to be impressed!”

With some mumbling, Frisk hears Tired Papyrus drift off, but they don’t move. Sure enough, in a moment, he returns.

“does that ‘saying you’re smart’ thing actually…?” he starts.

“Yes! It’s true and it’s good to say it! Try it the next time you meet a new friend!” Blue Sans says. “Now get going!”

This time, Tired Papyrus shuffles off for real.

“So?” Blue Sans asks. Frisk unhides from behind the lamp. “What did you think of my brother?”

Frisk is badly confused by Tired Papyrus, actually, and also by Blue Sans, but from his introduction he sounds pretty neat. Just very shy. Real Papyrus was never that shy, was he?

_“it’s kind of hard to believe now, isn’t it? but he used to be…kind of a weakling, actually.”_

They don’t know what to believe anymore.

But it’s not nice to tell someone that their brother causes existential confusion, so they give Sans a thumbs up. Tired Papyrus seems _nice_ , just _different_. Just like Wonderland.

“Yeah, he’s really cool! Actually, he really wants to capture a human. And you’re a human, right? He’s gonna be so happy to meet you. This is going to be great!” Blue Sans genuinely seems to believe this. It makes Frisk smile a little bit, and also worry a lot. Does capturing mean something different here…?

“Okay, I said we’d give him a ten-minute head start, right? So just count to 600 and then we can go meet him!”

* * *

To their chagrin, Blue Sans does actually make Frisk count to 600; or at least, they hold up their fingers to count to ten 60 times. He doesn’t seem to mind too much that they don’t talk to him. That’s good. Real Sans would get mad, so if Blue Sans isn’t mad, then that means he’s not Real Sans. That’s a good thing.

Real Sans would also not wear weird armor, or bright colors, or yell in such a happy voice, so really, it’s better to just consider them totally different people. Blue Sans is part of Wonderland; Real Sans is part of the real world. Totally different. There’s definitely no reason for Frisk to keep a wide space between themself and Blue Sans at all times. Except for…politeness. Yeah. Politeness is why Frisk keeps backing away from Blue Sans until they hit the edge of the clearing.

At least Blue Sans is nice enough to stop coming closer after that, mostly. And he yells loud enough that it’s easy to have a conversation despite the slightly wide conversational distance. And he doesn’t mention when Frisk dives to the side and hides behind a tree after a particularly emphatic gesture.

Frisk is doing great in Wonderland. They’re really blending in.

Once they’ve counted to 600 with little trouble, Sans grins with stars in his eyes. “Alright! You know about puzzles, right, human?”

Frisk thinks that this might have been a better way to pass ten minutes than counting to ten a bunch. They shrug. They know that puzzles are sometimes parts of traps that lead to other, harder traps if you get them wrong. Traps like ‘really sharp object coming at you very fast.’

“Puzzles are a great way to make new friends! Papy will explain his puzzles to you, because he probably doesn’t have a helpful guidebook prepared. Remember, human, always make a helpful guidebook when you construct your puzzles, and leave it somewhere obvious, like in a box or a chest! That’s where I always check for guidebooks!” Blue Sans says.

Frisk doesn’t think they’ve seen a guidebook for anything since before they fell Underground. Maybe Real Papyrus has some…?

“So! Do you feel like you understand puzzles now? Are you ready to meet my brother?” Blue Sans asks.

Frisk shrugs again, and nods this time. They feel pretty ready. As ready as they can without a SAVE or a rest or some healing.

As they pass by the convenient lamp again, its convenience fills them with determination. That takes care of that.

Blue Sans leads them past a box (no guidebook inside except for a theoretical quantum physics book. It’s been abandoned for so long that it’s gotten stuck) and a fork in the road, and it isn’t long until a tall, slouching skeleton comes into view, making his way towards them.

 _Cozy_ … is Frisk’s first thought, followed by … _orange_.

Tired Papyrus has been promoted to Cozy Papyrus. His hoodie looks even more comfortable than Sans’s. Real Sans’s. Real Papyrus wouldn’t be caught dead wearing something so soft and nice. Frisk is pretty sure even his dust would be repelled by it.

They want to touch it. They want to know where in the Underground Papyrus found something so clean and warm. It’s not even black, or red. It’s a miracle.

“sans, is that a…? get away from that thing!” Cozy Papyrus does not seem as pleased by their arrival as they are by his hoodie, actually rearing back and standing up kind of straight-ish. His hands come out of his pockets like Sans when he’s startled.

“Is it a human? Yep! I found them!” Blue Sans smiles and makes to touch their back, and Frisk immediately darts down the path to hide behind Cozy Papyrus.

Cozy Papyrus almost certainly had time to get away, but he freezes up as they approach, hands held out. Frisk stays a polite distance away, keeping him between them and Blue Sans as he slowly turns around.

Blue Sans has a weird look on his face for half of a moment. It almost looks like he’s kind of sad. But Sans only gets sad about monsters, or the Barrier, or Papyrus, or his hopes and dreams for the future, so that’s probably not right. The expression clears up before they can think too much about it.

“ _sans what do i do_ ,” hisses Cozy Papyrus.

Remembering Blue Sans’s advice, Frisk holds out their hand again. They smile and try to be friendly and nonjudgmental. Blue Sans bounces on his heels in the background.

“umm…nice…human? that’s a, uh,” Cozy Papyrus’s hand inches towards his pocket where Frisk can see the familiar shape of a carton of cigarettes, and then inches away from it again. “good…human child that sans has brought halfway to snowdin…?”

Frisk nods. They do try to be a nice human, and Blue Sans has in fact brought them about halfway from the Ruins door to Snowdin. They shake their hand in the air to remind him of it.

“sans!!” Cozy Papyrus stage-whispers. “what is! a human! doing here! what does it want from me!!!”

“Maybe you should introduce yourself? This is a very friendly human! I’m sure they would be happy to meet you!” Blue Sans strides up to Cozy Papyrus and pats him on the back, making him stumble forward a little bit. Is that what he wanted to do to Frisk just now? Unbalance them so that Cozy Papyrus would have an easier shot at finishing them off? It would have been a better plan if they hadn’t had a SAVE recently.

“…this might as well happen,” Cozy Papyrus says. “what the hell did i smoke? uh. hi, human…?”

Frisk nods again, for encouragement. Blue Sans grins and gives them a stealthy thumbs up.

“oh, am i supposed to do that whole thing? um, hi, i’m papyrus, i’m sans’s brother, i guess you already know sans? somehow? i’m smart, let’s solve puzzles?” Cozy Papyrus has a look on his face like he’s not sure where the cameras and chainsaws will come from, but he’s sure he’s on one of Mettaton’s ‘Gotcha! With a Killer Robot’ shows. He glances at Sans, and then gives Frisk’s hand two weak nudges. It’s not a very intimidating handshake.

Real Papyrus, Frisk is pretty sure, would not be very impressed with Wonderland’s version of him. They clap politely anyway. It was a very good improvement to his introduction ten minutes ago. He has real potential to be an introductions master, if he keeps practicing!

“will you, uh, will you promise not to go on a murderous rampage if i go talk with my bro for a minute?” Cozy Papyrus asks. He seems to be seriously concerned.

Frisk shakes their head—no, no murdering for them. Papyrus stiffens even further. Wait, were they supposed to nod…? They try that instead, but they feel kind of flustered and they’re not sure the message is getting across how they want it to.

Blue Sans is being completely unhelpful, watching this utter failure of communication with deep pride. In this respect, he is exactly like Real Sans.

No, that’s mean. He’s still nothing like Real Sans, and he’s nothing to be afraid of. Probably.

“wait, let me try again.” Cozy Papyrus is frowning. “how about if you’re gonna murder everyone, you just tell me now and then i don’t have to get a nasty surprise later? i think that saves us a lot of time, _huh, human_?”

He’s trying very hard to be intimidating, despite how off-balance he is. At least, Frisk is pretty sure that’s what he’s doing. He’s looming over them like Real Papyrus does, and in the depths of his eye sockets they swear they can see a distant ember of fury, just waiting to be fanned into an inferno…

Compared to Real Papyrus, who is absolutely furious nearly all of the time, he is not very frightening. Frisk cowers anyway, to hopefully make him feel better. Sometimes monsters try to be scary because they’re afraid, and if Frisk acts scared, they can usually get those monsters to leave them alone. They look up at Cozy Papyrus (he’s trying to intimidate them in a hoodie…it’s not even a _spiky_ hoodie…no, they’re trying to be nice and nonjudgmental! No judging the hoodie!) and widen their eyes and whimper a little, shuffling backwards carefully and holding their hands above their head.

Blue Sans says, “Papyrus!” in a scandalized voice. At least he’s having fun.

They sniffle once and Cozy Papyrus breaks. “fuck. uh. it’s not that serious, kid. just, uh, just…joking around, right? that was definitely, heh…definitely just kidding…”

Cozy Papyrus is sweating profusely. Frisk is pretty sure he’s run through more emotions in the past hour than Real Papyrus does in several days—normally, he feels affection one time and needs a whole week to recover.

If…any of that was ever real. Or any of this is real. Or anything is real.

“are you—? sans, are they—oh, no. don’t cry. i’m sorry. i promise i’m—actually no i’m just a disaster, i shouldn’t have scared you, you’re not very threatening for a human i guess, i just want to be cool, why am i allowed to talk to people? i made a kid cry.” Cozy Papyrus seems even more upset than Frisk by this turn of events. Even Blue Sans is concerned.

Frisk gives Cozy Papyrus a hug, because it seems like he needs it. And maybe, a little bit, because he’s tall and bony and his name is Papyrus and even if his soft hoodie is all wrong, maybe if they hug him hard enough he’ll go back to being loud and sharp and angry and he’ll change into a Papyrus they know what to do with and he can tell Frisk that this was all just a bad dream and Sans wouldn’t hurt them and this strange place that they don’t understand isn’t real and they can come home now.

It doesn’t happen like that, of course. Cozy Papyrus remains soft and cozy, if a little tense, before relaxing a touch and bending down for better hugging. After a hesitation, he pets their hair like Blue Sans did.

“there, there…?” he tries. Frisk pats his ribcage. They appreciate the effort.

After a moment, they release him and smile as wide as they can. They want him to know that they’re gonna be his friend.

Cozy Papyrus, continuing to sweat, says, “uh. i’m just gonna go…talk to…my bro for a second. be, uh, be good?”

He bonks them firmly on the top of the head, twice, and Blue Sans gives Frisk a thumbs up and a winning grin as he’s practically dragged away by Cozy Papyrus. The brothers stop about five paces away and whisper in a huddle.

“sans, what the hell?” Cozy Papyrus demands. “that’s a human! they could have killed you! what are you doing!”

“They’re a very nice and also scared human! I’m sure they think you’re super cool! You should talk to them some more!” Blue Sans enthuses, smiling and waving at Frisk over Cozy Papyrus’s cozy hoodie.

“that’s—that’s not the point! they’re still a human! we’re supposed to capture those! how am i supposed to ever get into the royal guard if i let a human just run through snowdin! alphys will actually kill me!” Cozy Papyrus says.

Alphys probably wouldn’t kill Cozy Papyrus, Frisk thinks. She’d probably be happy that there’s a human to experiment on, right? She’d be thrilled that Frisk got through Snowdin. She’s probably already doing the Wonderland version of setting up for Frisk’s arrival. Maybe making comfy clothes? Bleaching out the stains in her lab coat and hemming up the ragged edges? Real Alphys is good at sewing, but terrible about washing her clothes, so she looks both neater and messier than the other monsters.

“Alphys won’t kill you! She’s really nice! Your online friend talks about her a lot, doesn’t she?” Blue Sans asks. “And also! Who said you’re not capturing the human? Why do you think I asked you to recalibrate your puzzles?”

Cozy Papyrus puts his face in his hands. “i didn’t think it was for a human!”

“Well! Don’t think of them as a human, then! Think of them as our new friend who you’re going to capture! I think it’ll be a great bonding experience,” Blue Sans says.

“sans! you! are! not! helping!”

Blue Sans preens. “I am being very helpful. You can thank me later, once you’re great friends with the human after spending a fun afternoon doing puzzles together! It’ll be fantastic! You love puzzles, they probably love puzzles, and you’re doing exactly what a future Royal Guard should do! I believe in you, Papy!”

Blue Sans pushes his brother until he turns around, and then continues to push Cozy Papyrus, protesting, straight on back to Frisk. Frisk politely pretends that they didn’t eavesdrop.

“Human!” Blue Sans announces. “You shall not pass this area! My brother, the Great Papyrus—”

“sans—”

“will capture you! Using a series of brilliant puzzles that he has concocted! Because he is very smart and cool, and excellent friendship material!”

Cozy Papyrus looks aggrieved. “ _sans_.”

“Well! I’ll let you two get to know each other! I’ll be further on down the road!” And with that, Blue Sans is gone.

Frisk waves, in case he can see it. Cozy Papyrus makes a strangled, helpless sound. And so begins their friendship with Blue Sans and Cozy Papyrus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some notes about my version of Underswap:  
> -Papyrus does normally act "cooler" than in this chapter, he was just having a bad day and then repeatedly knocked off his guard. He uses a laidback persona like canon Sans’s to hide massive social anxiety. He wants to join the Royal Guard because he hopes to make friends. He’s very lonely.  
> -Sans is very cheerful and energetic. Insistently so. It’s impossible to keep him down for long. He worries over Papyrus’s social isolation and tries to help him build confidence and come out of his shell some, so Sans coaching him on introducing himself to a lamp is actually not too weird for Papyrus. Sans also knows everybody and seems to do errands or side jobs pretty much everywhere; presumably to work off all his extra energy and because he's happy to help out.  
> -If asked, Sans would say that he broke the stick on the path on accident while trying to catch up with Frisk, remembered that he needed to neaten up his station before meeting a new friend, and then hurried back; no stalking involved.  
> -Chara/Asriel/Frisk/MK don't actually switch places in this 'verse. I only swapped people's outward personalities and some major choices, not when or where they were born. Also, I needed my POV character to not have been dead for like 100 years. Also, Alphys is still Royal Scientist, she's just loud about it now.
> 
> Next chapter is the dinner and Judgement scenes of Underswap, unless anyone has a strong desire to see another part of the run. Since this is a character exercise, I'm willing to take prompts on this story as long as they don't go too far out of the way of what I'm doing.


	4. Home is Where...?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frisk and Sans talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me, hitting swap!papyrus with a rolled-up newspaper: this! isn't! your! character! study! get out!!  
> swap!papyrus: *continues to have a complex and interesting character whose growth would benefit from faith and responsibility, such as, say, the trust and love of a younger sibling*  
> Frisk: *desperately needs someone to trust*

When Frisk approaches Napstaton’s hotel, they are filled with trepidation.

So far in Wonderland, Blue Sans has appeared in about half of the places they would expect to meet Real Sans in, and while he hasn’t forced them to return to Snowdin, he _has_ been friendly and cheerful and happy to see them each time, which is almost worse.

At least Real Sans would lose his temper sometimes, and yell at them about being careless and how much everyone wanted to absorb their SOUL. With Blue Sans, it’s hard to tell if he even _has_ a temper, much less what will trigger it. They don’t know what he wants from them or what he’ll do if he doesn’t get it, because no matter what they do, he’s there with a smile and an, ‘I’m proud of you, human! Way to go!’

There’s no way he’s actually happy with everything they do. But he never lets them see him mad, and by the end of the conversation, they always feel a little less alert—a little more safe. It’s a false sense of security that scares Frisk more than anything, because they’re starting to think that they might not be smart enough not to fall for it.

So when they approach the Wonderland version of the hotel where Real Sans met them for dinner, Frisk really doesn’t want to see Blue Sans in front of it. They really don’t. They don’t want another last hint that something might not be right; they don’t want that little voice in the back of their head to shout at them to run now that they know it was right all along. Even if that little voice has been saying lately that maybe they can trust him a little…

They promise themself, if Blue Sans is waiting in front of the hotel for them like Real Sans was, they’ll say no to going anywhere with him and they’ll run away. They won’t give him a chance to make his weird smile at them and yell about how they’re doing good and change their mind. No matter what he tries to do, they’ll run away, they decide.

So, of course, Blue Sans isn’t waiting for them outside on the hotel. As soon as they approach the brightly-lit double doors, they relax—no type of Sans anywhere.

Just to be sure, they poke their head down the alley, but—nope. Nothing. Safe. Blue Sans isn’t waiting up for them.

They feel something a little cold in their chest. It’s probably late anxiety, they decide. How silly would it be to feel abandoned when they didn’t want to see Blue Sans in the first place? This just means that he definitely won’t be in the golden hallway, either, and they just…won’t get to say goodbye.

Which is fine, because Blue Sans is weird and confusing and can’t possibly be as harmless as he pretends to be. He can’t _really_ want to be their friend. He’s probably glad they’re going to leave Wonderland.

Frisk stands in front of the hotel, just outside of the light shed by the doors, clearly visible from all angles despite how much they hate open spaces. Just for a minute. They can’t decide whether it’s because they’re being sensible and they want to make sure Blue Sans isn’t going to surprise them before they can relax, or because they’re…kind of sad, a little bit? Just a little sad that they won’t get to say goodbye. Maybe it’s a little bit of both.

It doesn’t matter. It’s time to get going. This is stupid. It’s a _good_ thing that Blue Sans isn’t here, because if he were, he would just catch them off-guard and say weird stuff like he always does. And the reason he’s not here is because he’s _not like_ Real Sans. Which is _good_ , and they’re happy about it, all the time. The thought leaves a sour taste in their mouth.

Right. Well, no more dawdling. Wishing Blue Sans a silent goodbye, Frisk pulls open the doors and slips into the hotel.

And then they freeze. The doors hit them in the back.

Blue Sans wasn’t waiting outside of the hotel for them because he’s waiting _inside_ of the hotel.

Frisk hasn’t even processed the thought before Blue Sans is perking up from his place by the fountain (also broken in Wonderland, but still spewing water instead of being clogged with dust). He scurries over to them faster than they can escape, and grabs their arm while they’re still stunned.

He slows down once he gets closer to them and reaches out slowly enough that they would have had a definite chance to dodge if they weren’t surprised, but. They’re very surprised and they don’t move. And he’s being more insistent than usual, just walking right up to them and touching them without giving them a minute to react, so they just…let him.

This is the problem with Blue Sans. Not dodging someone trying to grab them could get Frisk killed in the real world. But since the Long Fall into Wonderland, their instincts have slowed down just a touch. Just long enough to be dangerous.

Stupid. If a place looks safe, that’s probably because someone is waiting to ambush you there. They can’t believe they fell for something so _basic_.

“Human!” Blue Sans says. “I was waiting for you! Before you go any farther, would you like to sit down with me for a moment? Papy’s been hogging your all of time, and I haven’t gotten to hang out with you at all!”

Frisk is pretty sure that’s not true, because Sans has met them at least once in every new area they’ve been to. Maybe he isn’t counting that stuff because it’s just by chance? Now he’s leading them by the arm to a secondary location, so maybe that makes a difference in hangouts. They’re not sure. Friendship works very strangely in Wonderland.

They tug subtly on their arm. Blue Sans doesn’t let go of them. He’s gripping too tight, but they think that’s just who he is—too tight, too loud, too happy. Nothing like Real Sans. He’s not like Real Sans.

Knowing better by now than to wait for a verbal response, Blue Sans pulls them away from the lobby of the hotel and into the fancy restaurant where they talked with Real Sans.

Unlike the restaurant in the real world, Wonderland’s restaurant has chairs in it. They look soft and untrapped and perfectly comfortable. Frisk tugs a little harder at Blue Sans’s hold on them. Now that they’re here, they feel a little sting of panic. Blue Sans has never been like Real Sans before…but Real Sans lied to them the whole time they knew him. They thought he was their friend, too.

No. This is Wonderland. Everything is nice in Wonderland.

Unless _that’s_ a lie.

Frisk wishes things would make just a little more sense sometimes.

Blue Sans must have a table reserved, or something, because he leads them straight to one in particular, finally releasing their arm next to one of its chairs before hurrying around the table to sit in the other.

This restaurant is classy and upscale, but still kind of friendly and comfortable. It’s hard to imagine what dinnertime entertainment must be like here—Frisk can’t imagine anyone dying in a place so neat and clean. Maybe Papyrus does stand-up comedy.

The thought lets them distract themself from the terrifying reality—that Sans is across a table from them, in a dark restaurant, and he’s about to say—

_“…so, got through the core. looks like your journey’s almost over, huh?”_

“You got through the core, human! I knew you could do it! But that means…your journey’s almost over, right?”

A chill runs through them, and any joy at seeing Blue Sans drains away. _Oh, no_. _No no no_.

He keeps looking at them with that cheerful, unreadable smile. It doesn’t disarm them right now. They can’t find anything behind it but warmth and good intentions that, if they didn’t know better, they would swear are genuine. But they do know better. No matter how sincere it looks, and no matter how much they really do like Blue Sans, they won’t allow themself to relax. _None of it has ever been real_.

That little voice in the back of their head doesn’t agree—it’s really changed its tune since reappearing in Wonderland. _He’s not going to hurt you_ , it says now. _I know you’re scared, but monsters are nice, I promise. He’s really not going to hurt you._

Even their own head is lying to them. Sometimes they want very badly to believe it. Sometimes they think, despite their best effort, they already do—and other times, like now, they know that under the surface of Wonderland is a lie that will be exposed in the golden hall.

Apparently oblivious to their fear, Blue Sans says, “I have to be honest, human…I’m really impressed! I’m glad I have such a cool friend.”

Liar, liar.

Sans glances off to the side. His eyes for once aren’t in their star forms. He looks a little more like himself—unlike himself.

“If I’m being honest…I was a little worried that you wouldn’t be so cool.” Isn’t he supposed to be talking about Papyrus right now? “There was some stuff I saw…did you…did you know I used to be a scientist?”

A scientist? Frisk grasps onto the words, trying to understand them. They have some difficulty imagining any Sans in a lab coat. Blue Sans seems more like he might be one than Real Sans, if they had to guess, maybe?

“Heh, I…I wasn’t very good at it. I was more of an assistant than anything…I liked hands-on chemistry labs, not theoretical physics. Papy would have been a better fit. He likes all that abstract mumbo-jumbo, calculations, all of it. He’s really smart. But he wasn’t involved with that, so he doesn’t…” Blue Sans’s smile, for the first time, begins chipping at the edges. Frisk can only barely ignore the urge to reach out to him.

“Well…the science stuff doesn’t really matter now, does it?” Blue Sans attempts to reinforce his smile, but it looks brittle. Frisk can’t help the worry that twists up with the fear in their chest. Part of them shouts that they’re so stupid not to have run away while they still could, and part of them wants to give Blue Sans a hug even if he throws them down a deep hole into another world.

“I’m just really glad we’re friends, and not enemies! I would have been really sad to have to kill you…” Something in his eyes is deadly serious. Frisk shivers. “…however many times it takes.”

Does he…know about SAVEs? Is that…? _“i found a way to keep you from ever coming back,”_ said Real Sans—did he mean to the castle, or…?

“That’s not important anymore, though!” Blue Sans’s _fake warm loving_ smile is back. “You turned out to be really nice! I was worried at first, but now I’m sure all that stuff I saw back then isn’t your fault.”

Frisk’s hands are trembling uncontrollably, badly enough that they’re terrified he can see it. They fold their hands up in their lap. They sit at the edge of their chair, refusing to sink into it—easier to run away. They can use the table to shield them from the first attack…

“But, before you go, can I please ask you something? You can just nod or shake your head.” Blue Sans’s hands are clasped on top of the table. He does that sometimes, holds his hands in front of him so they don’t fly in all directions, but only when he talks to Frisk. When he talks to other people, he gestures wildly.

His mittens keep him from lacing his fingers together like Real Sans does. Frisk is absurdly, wildly grateful for that.

Reluctantly, Frisk nods.

“Great! Thank you! Um, my question is a little bit something to do with the stuff I was just talking about. I promise, if you don’t wanna talk about it anymore after this, it’s okay. I understand. I don’t like talking about it either. But, this question is really important to me, so please be honest, okay?” Blue Sans makes that comical smile-frown he does when he worries. He fiddles with the wrists of his gloves for a long moment, looking at Frisk searchingly.

All at once, he blurts, “are you still scared of me?”

Frisk’s hands clench into fists. They can feel each individual hair on their arms raise.

“It’s okay,” says Blue Sans. “I thought it was just because I’m a monster at first, or maybe you were just scared a lot all the time, which you kind of are, but…I’m right, aren’t I? Something made you really, really scared of me. More than anyone else.”

Frisk’s expression is apparently answer enough.

Blue Sans doesn’t look disappointed, though, or angry. He doesn’t even look sad, really—not quite. He looks, maybe…compassionate? Sympathetic? Why?

“It’s okay. It really is,” says Blue Sans. “No matter what mistakes you maybe made before…or…what either of us might have had to do…in this here and now, you’re my really good friend who hasn’t hurt anyone! You’ve worked really hard not to do a single violence! I’m so proud of you!”

He seems to be expecting some kind of response, so Frisk nods tentatively. What mistakes is he talking about? And ‘things they’ve had to do’? They’ve never hurt anyone in any timeline, not even by accident. Why would they? What kind of mistake would they make to accidentally hurt someone?

Blue Sans seems passionate, at least. Is that good? He’s smiling. He’s always smiling. “That’s what matters—who you are today. If you don’t like who you used to be in the past, that means you’re already changing! I believe in you, human! And I know you’re trying really hard to be a good person who I can be friends with! We can be friends, right?”

Hasn’t he been calling them his friend since he met them? Frisk tries another nod…and then, thinking about it, nods more resolutely. They would like to be Blue Sans’s friend. His real friend. And maybe, all the weird stuff he’s saying…means that he wants to be their friend, too? He sounds like he’s maybe sort of apologizing for Real Sans pushing them into the Long Fall into Wonderland? Maybe?

The stuff they don’t understand doesn’t matter, Frisk decides. What matters is that Blue Sans wants to be their friend, and they want to be his friend, and they want this conversation to be over now.

Something about what they’re thinking reminds Frisk of that last conversation with Real Sans, but they shut it out. This is different. Blue Sans is different. He _is_. When Blue Sans says weird stuff to them, it doesn’t mean he wants to hurl them down a long, dark hole forever and never see them again.

Besides, that little voice in their head is radiating concern, but it’s not telling them to run away, so Blue Sans is _fine_.

“You’re right,” says Blue Sans, “you’re a really good friend, and I’m really glad! Heh, as Papy would say…let’s ‘let bybones be bybones!’ And since we’re friends…”

His eyes are so bright and cheerful. He’s nothing like Real Sans. He’s from _Wonderland_ , and he’s Frisk’s _friend_. That matters a hundred times more than some stupid memories that make their knees feel weak and their palms sweaty and their SOUL hurt.

“…do you really have to leave?” asks Blue Sans.

 _He doesn’t mean it like Real Sans. He’s not trying to use me. He’s not, it’s okay_. Despite what they’re telling themself, Frisk’s mind fuzzes over with _Kill or be killed_. They make an audible gasping noise as they heave in air, breathing fast and sharp and completely out of their control, already on their feet. _No no no no no. Not here, not like this, don’t lie to me,_ no. _He’s not lying. He is lying. He’s my_ friend.

Blue Sans, familiar by now with Frisk’s stupid memories getting mixed up with him and making them think he’s _anything_ like Real Sans when he’s _not_ , carefully spreads his hands low on the table. No magic from either of them. His eyes, both of them, are there. Frisk blinks rapidly to try to remove the blur from their vision.

“It’s okay!” says Blue Sans. “It’s okay. It’s okay. We’re friends, I promise, I don’t want to hurt you. You don’t have to be scared. I just…it seems strange to say now, but you seem a little happier here. Right?”

Frisk’s right hand goes to their aching chest, over where their SOUL lives. _What?_

“When I first met you, you didn’t seem very happy. It seemed like you were really used to people around you…not being very nice. I don’t know if whatever happened before is because of that, or because of something else, but…I feel like you don’t come from a very happy place, human.” He glances upwards, making half a gesture towards the ceiling before putting his hands back on the table. “And since you came here, I think you might be a little happier, right? So…I guess what I’m asking is, do you really want to go back to a world like that?”

… _what?_

“Well, that’s what I think. I think you could be happy here. So, please think about it, okay? We’ll always be here for you, no matter what you choose,” Blue Sans says. “Take care of yourself, human! Because your friends really care for you.”

Frisk forces themself to freeze in place and not flinch as Blue Sans walks at a moderate pace around the table, and pats their head. Head-pats are okay. They lean into it deliberately, and then he’s gone.

Blue Sans…just said something really important, they’re pretty sure…but they can’t think right now. They don’t know what to do right now. They want to run somewhere, but they can’t think of anywhere to go. They want to talk to Real Papyrus. He would yell a lot and then explain everything. He would protect them. He would make things make _sense_.

Before they know it, they’ve dialed his number up, and the phone is ringing. Papyrus always picks up on the first ring. This call goes to the fourth.

“’llo? what’s up?”

It’s Cozy Papyrus.

They can’t call Real Papyrus.

Despite how scared they are of Blue Sans and Real Sans and Any Sort of Sans…this is the fact that pulls a sob out of them. They can’t call Real Papyrus. They never even said goodbye. They were going to come back after meeting King Asgore…

“what—kiddo? you sound pretty bad, what’s—never mind, look, i’ll come pick you up, can you get somebody to tell me where you are? no, wait, i can ask undyne, she’s still here, just—”

With enormous strength of will, Frisk forces themself to make the closest thing they have to a word since the Long Fall. They hum, “mm-mm” as a negative.

“no? what, don’t ask where you are?”

Frisk nods. They don’t think they could stand to see Cozy Papyrus right now, this weird soft version of _their_ Papyrus, their almost-family from their Almost-Forever-Home.

Undyne probably has a camera that can see them. Either that or Cozy Papyrus just understands what they need, because he hums back, low and understanding.

“just wanted to call, huh? that’s, uh, cool and fine. i’ll just…talk on the phone. to myself. with you. cool.”

Frisk sniffles. Cozy Papyrus hates phone calls, preferring to text, but Real Papyrus calls texting lazy and inefficient. They always called him and he’d have something to say, always, no matter how busy he was. They could tell him where they were and he’d tell them about it, or complain about the people there.

“uh, looks like you’re in a fancy restaurant. that’s neat. think they serve tacos there?” Cozy Papyrus says.

He’s trying. He’s Frisk’s friend. But he never risked his job in the Royal Guard to protect them, or led them through trap drills over and over until they could dodge bullets while solving puzzles in their sleep, or terrorized all of Snowdin into being nice to them. They’ve never slept on a dog bed in his garage. In Wonderland, they sleep in a secret cave in Waterfall, which they guard with a simple trap that Real Papyrus taught them how to make.

They like Cozy Papyrus. They do. Maybe if they fell here in Wonderland first, he would be like a cool big brother who’s always there with a lazy joke or a sweaty smile when they call him. But they didn’t fall here first. They fell in the real Underground, the world of ‘kill or be killed.’ They don’t belong here, and he’s not their family.

“you’re right, they prob’ly don’t. sans would—”

(In one possible world, Frisk drops the phone and curls up in the plush chair in the restaurant and puts their head on the table and sobs. They cry their heart out for the home they lost and the future they thought they had. In a half-hour—the fastest he can navigate the accursed vents and conveyor belts of Hotland, even with Undyne’s considerable help—Papyrus jogs into the restaurant, sweating, searching. As soon as he spots Frisk, he approaches slowly and loudly and carefully not from behind them, and Frisk looks up from the table and something breaks in them. They hold out their hands and he picks them up, humming softly.

(He brings them home to Snowdin and surrounds them with blankets and pillows and quiet, predictable noises—all of the things that he prefers when he has anxiety attacks—and makes sure they’re in a corner with no windows and the doors are locked and his presence is clearly and loudly broadcasted at all times—all things that he knows Frisk needs to relax. He lets them cry themself out. Sometimes, you just have to let yourself cry and know you’re not alone, he thinks, and he is right.

(When Frisk wakes up, they quietly drift to him and latch one hand onto his sleeve like a much younger child, and Papyrus has a second shadow as he goes about his day. He hums and doesn’t say anything about it, and he keeps humming and not saying anything about it the next day, and the next.

(Papyrus has never been an older brother before, and he worries sometimes that he isn’t any good at it; but as Sans is quick to assure him, he’s a natural. In different ways, Papyrus and Frisk learn to be brave.

(That is what happens in another world. In this world…)

Frisk clicks off the phone. They want to go home. They don’t care if he secretly hates them, they need Real Papyrus to _be here_ and yell and be pointy and threatening. They need to go _home_. Wonderland doesn’t make any sense and it’s scary and lonely and it makes them cry at weird times and people think they’re too scared and they don’t belong here and they need to go home. And everyone says they can go home once they cross the Barrier, so…

Frisk runs. They ignore the hotel, and they ignore their phone until it stops ringing, and they ignore the monsters around them. They’re going to get through the golden hall and they’re going to cross the Barrier and they’re going to go back to where they belong and things won’t be hard and confusing anymore. They don’t have to think about those things that Blue Sans said, because they have a place where they belong and they’re going to go back there.

The thought fills them with a cold, empty, painful determination.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Swap!Sans: so I'm pretty sure you did a genocide and maybe almost ended the world in a past life but I want you to know, I can see how hard you're trying to change and I'm so proud of that! I believe you can be a good person if you just keep trying!  
> Fell!Frisk, devout pacifist, already knee-deep in a flashback: ..............what
> 
> ...yeah, I'm gonna say that swap!Sans is one of the more emotionally competent Sans-es, but that doesn't make him a mind-reader. With the information he has, 'Frisk is a good kid from a bad situation who killed a bunch of people before I killed them back and/or convinced them that Violence Is Wrong; they have since grown to be a better person and they're appropriately horrified by their past actions' is a better guess than 'alternate universes???'


	5. Ever Seen This Before?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Judgement, and what comes afterwards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's my birthday in 3 hours! Updating fanfiction is the only form of celebration that's not illegal. I made my own cake an hour ago, though, and since I can't eat a whole cake by myself...I can finally have my cake and eat it, too!
> 
>  **Briefing:**  
>  As far as the "judgement" thing goes; I'm assuming it's an actual job with responsibilities and a salary and all, not just something Sans decides to do for shits in the game. I've kept Blue as the judge, because he's still pretty much Sans, you know? I don't think he's so different as to not be the judge. Also, I don't know if they're chosen through ~mystical means~ which would probably make the position a universal constant. I am ascribing Sans's ability to read facial expressions terrifyingly well/see stats/cheat in battles to all Sanses, too, which I imagine would help with judging people.

The golden hallway is as long and golden and unforgiving as Frisk remembers.

The columns are bright; the shadows are dark. Their steps echo on the tile. They don’t see Blue Sans, or Sans of any sort, but they don’t think that matters. They’ve always seen Sans when he wants to be seen, and usually not before. They’ll see him soon, they’re sure.

They don’t hesitate at the entrance to the hall, just make a SAVE and keep walking. Their steps are light on the balls of their feet. They won’t let him take them by surprise. They won’t allow him to get rid of them. They’re going to cross the Barrier, and they’re going to do it without absorbing Queen Toriel’s SOUL. There has to be a way.

They allow their vision to tunnel and focus only on moving forward. It doesn’t quite surprise them, but they don’t see the moment when Blue Sans steps into existence.

He’s smiling, of course. This smile is serene, almost neutral. Does he know what’s coming? Is he, even now, preparing himself to betray them? Or is he truly sincere about letting bybones be bybones?

It doesn’t matter. No matter what Blue Sans does or tries to do, Frisk is going to get through this hall. They’re going to get out of this complicated world and back to where they can belong, where they’re only as jumpy and wary as the next monster and the only friends they have are the ones they make through endless effort and a point-blank refusal to stay dead. Whether or not Wonderland is a lie won’t matter soon. Frisk never needs to know. They’re going home.

“The end is pretty close now,” Blue Sans says. His voice is quieter than they’ve ever heard it, even in whispers. Or, perhaps ‘heavier’ is a better word for it? “In a few moments, you’ll meet the Queen, and the two of you will decide the fate of the world. Our future…our hopes and dreams…all of these are in your hands. But for now…”

Frisk flexes their hands and shifts on the balls of their feet. Blue Sans nods his head slightly.

“I’ll try to be quick. You already know about LV and EXP, don’t you? If you want, we can skip that part,” Blue Sans says.

Frisk nods. The lifeblood of every monster, the single measure of power in a world where fate itself is decided by one’s capacity to kill—they know all about LOVE.

“Well.” Blue Sans watches them. They watch him back. _How much LV does Blue Sans have?_ they wonder. Is it more than Real Sans, to allow him to smile so cheerfully, to seem so unaffected by the world around him? Or is it less, leaving him vulnerable but determined to thrive without giving in to violence? Is Blue Sans a liar, or is he not?

They could trigger an encounter to check his stats and get a decent guess. They don’t.

Blue Sans continues, unaware ~~or uncaring~~ of Frisk’s thoughts.

“You don’t have to look so troubled. You’re being judged for what you’ve done in this life, not anything you might have done in another one. In this life, you’ve never gained any EXP. None at all,” Blue Sans says.

It’s true; they haven’t. In this life or in any other.

He must know they’re from the real world, right? It’s the only idea they have that makes sense. Does he think they must have killed people there?

Why would he, though? It’s ‘kill _or be killed’_ ; with their powerful human SOUL, Frisk can afford be killed as many times as it takes.

Does Blue Sans not know that ‘kill or be killed’ is a choice? That might explain some things…but if that’s true, why hasn’t he tried to kill them yet?

Blue Sans’s eyes are warm and soft and utterly inscrutable.

“It’s something you should be very proud of, human. I believe that everyone can be a good person, if they try hard enough. And you…you must be trying very, very hard. To choose peace, to run away with a smile when it would be easier to stand and fight…I really respect that!” Blue Sans’s smile seems more sincere. “I don’t know what I said to make you stop back then, but it must have been really inspiring, to change the mind of a person like you! I’m so proud I could cry!”

‘Change the mind of a person like you.’ Real Sans said that, too. But he said he couldn’t do it. Blue Sans seems to think he already has. He seems to think…maybe he thinks the reason Frisk hasn’t killed anyone in Wonderland is because of him? Maybe he thinks they killed a lot of people in the real world, but after the Long Fall, they stopped? Or after meeting Blue Sans? Or something?

Frisk doesn’t understand. But. That’s okay. They don’t need to. Soon, it won’t matter whether they understand Blue Sans, or what they think about him at all. He hasn’t gone crazy yet like Real Sans did in the real version of this hall, and he doesn’t seem like he’s going to attack them. That’s good enough. That’s more than Frisk has ever hoped for.

They’re going to be sad to leave Blue Sans and Cozy Papyrus behind. Real or not, they’re really going to miss this world.

“I can see by your expression that you are uncertain. That’s alright, human! I believe in you! Together, you and Queen Toriel can decide the future of humans and monsters, I’m sure of it!” Blue Sans poses heroically. Frisk decides to take the encouragement as it’s meant and offers him a watery smile. Regardless of what he might think they’ve done in the past; he really does look like he’s proud of them.

“Well, I won’t hold you up any longer. Good luck, human! We’re all proud of you!” To his credit, Blue Sans walks straight down the hall, clearly intending to pass them without moving too close to them nor giving them too wide a berth—neither threatening nor alienating. He’s moving quickly, but his steps are smooth and even, and his path is clear and predictable.

Blue Sans…does a lot of that, Frisk realizes.

He does a lot of slowing down and moving in easy-to-understand patterns and not avoiding them but not moving into their space too fast either. And even though they don’t sleep there, he always tries to feed them and make sure they have lots of layers on when they visit his and Papyrus’s house. And he showed them how to repair their sweater without just making knots from all the severed threads, and he called them his friend as soon as he met them even though he was maybe scared of them because they came from the real world? And he’s just…?

Blue Sans is just, really nice? And now Frisk is leaving and they’re never gonna see him again? And they were scared of him too at first because of Real Sans, and he’s never been mad at them about it, ever, and they’re starting to think maybe he never will be, because they’re leaving and he’ll never have a chance to?

 _Are you sure you really want to leave?_ asks the voice in the back of their head.

They can’t answer it right now.

Instead, they take two quick, shaky steps forward to be right in Blue Sans’s path, and his expression moves from confident and cheery to concerned—Blue Sans often looks concerned for little snatches of seconds—and a little, tiny bit guarded. Just the bare minimum of wariness for any monster who wants to live through being cornered by a human.

Despite that flicker of trepidation, he still stops on a dime and stands perfectly still when they lunge at him. He doesn’t even try to dodge, even though Frisk is sure he could.

They cling to him as tight as they can around his armor and bury their face in his bandanna. Half of them expects to be flung off and attacked and pushed into a deep, deep hole; but they want to do this, just in case he doesn’t hurt them. They don’t want to regret never having done this.

 _Thank you,_ they try to say with their hug, and _I’m gonna miss you_ and _I’m not ready to say goodbye_ and _thank you for never hurting me even once_ and _even if you’re lying I want to believe you_ and most of all, _I’m glad I landed here._

“Oh,” Blue Sans says. He places one hand lightly on top of their head, and another on their shoulder, and they almost flinch; but he’s not trapping them, not holding on too tight at all. “Oh. Human, didn’t you hear me? It’s gonna be okay. It’s okay.”

They nod and hop up on their toes to push their head into his hand. He pets them delicately, just sort of flattening their tangled hair on top of their head.

 _Thank you_ , they think as hard as they can, and squeeze him tight so that the impression will last.

He lets them go immediately once they step away, and they make sure to give him a smile as big as his is. Blue Sans is kind of confusing, but they’re really glad that they could have a friend like him for a little while. They hope he remembers them when they’re gone.

For now, they’ve survived talking with Sans in the golden hallway.

Frisk squares their shoulders and faces forward with determination. Everyone believes in them, and there’s no barrier that is going to stop them.

They wave goodbye to Blue Sans and continue forward.

* * *

There is a long, hard battle. It’s like no battle that Frisk has been in before.

The little voice in their head is scared and sad and feels like it’s hurting, seeing the fallen Prince of Monsters promise to kill them over and over and over again. It says to _save him_ and they’re trying; Frisk is trying to get through to him, but he calls them by a name that’s not theirs and they still can’t get their stupid voice to work and he’s not _listening_ to them. Bright stars and lasers chase them through the battle, and the bone attack in their SOUL scratches them up and _hurts_ them like it always does. The sting of hurt and grief is familiar.

They don’t want the world to end. This wonderful, strange world…it deserves to survive. They don’t want to go home by destroying all of their new friends.

Frisk feels very alone.

 _You’re not alone_ , the voice tells them, as another wave of pain passes them by. Frisk is good at dodging, but even they can’t do it forever…

_You’re not alone, and this world doesn’t have to end. Let me prove it to you._

Frisk imagines a partner, human-shaped, with perfect rosy cheeks and a cold hand that holds on tight to theirs. Someone who tugs them out of the way of a wave of bullets with steady certainty, and gives them the kind of smile that they’ve only ever seen on a doll. _See? You’re getting it. We can do this together, we just have to be determined. Are you ready?_

Frisk doesn’t know what they’re supposed to be ready for. The world is ending and their SAVE file is out of reach. This isn’t even their world to SAVE—it must belong to this bright-eyed scrap of their imagination, or something. Frisk doesn’t know how to SAVE a world like this.

_Perhaps you can’t SAVE all of this world at once. But with the power you do have…maybe you can SAVE something else?_

In a long, hard battle, Frisk calls for help; not with their voice but with their SOUL. They call for help knowing that no one will answer, because nobody ever has. They call in a blind attempt to SAVE even one single SOUL. They call just and only because that little voice in their head insists that they _try_ , that they give the monsters of Wonderland a single chance.

If Frisk were to have a single chance to prove themself, they would want it to be in less apocalyptic circumstances, but…they try. One single time, they reach for that little voice and the two of them—Frisk and that little voice that they are beginning to suspect is not actually a part of them—they call for help, together.

Somebody answers.

Two somebodies answer. And then two more, and then two more.

A lot of things happen after that. It’s honestly kind of a colorful smear in Frisk’s memory. There are other humans, and there are Wonderland monsters, and for this one battle, Frisk forgets that they don’t belong in Wonderland at all. How could they not belong here, when the monsters they’ve met care for them so deeply? How could they be out of place in a world that anchors itself around them and refuses to die?

Hand in hand with their bright-eyed guiding star, Frisk holds their ground and SAVES.

The most important thing, the thing that they hold onto, is that when they called for help; everyone came.

Then the Barrier has broken, the SOULs are free, and Frisk passes out.

* * *

When Frisk wakes up, it’s to the low sound of Asgore’s voice.

Which is strange, because they would have guessed that they’d wake up in the real world after breaking the Barrier.

They blink their eyes open, and…they’re still in Wonderland. Or at least, they’re surrounded by the friends they’ve made in Wonderland. And they’re in a room they’ve never seen in the real world.

“Frisk! You are awake,” Asgore says, so they’re pretty sure they’re dreaming. They never told him their name, right? Or…is it all a dream?

“Jeez! Why were you out so long? You almost had me worried for a second there, what’s with that?” Loud Alphys demands.

Weird Undyne, who is just too different from Real Undyne to comprehend, says, “You were asleep for…a really long time, Frisk. That’s, uh, probably pretty bad.”

Frisk checks their stats. 14/20 HP, 10 ATK, 10(+15) DEF. Golden locket equipped. Sans’s bone attack equipped.

They feel pretty much fine. Their SOUL has its normal ache, but it’s no worse than usual. They feel refreshed. They wonder how long they were asleep.

“nyeh-heh-heh, it’s a good thing you woke up when you did…sans was about to cry,” Cozy Papyrus teases. Blue Sans crosses his arms indignantly.

“Of course I was! Frisk is our very good friend, and if I let them into the castle and they got hurt, I would feel horrible! So would you!” he argues. Then, seeming to realize they’re right there, he adds, “You’re not hurt, right, Frisk?”

Frisk smiles and shakes their head. They’re as hale and whole as can be. Just…a little confused as to why they’re still _here_. Did they miss something again? But Temmie said they’d done everything they could…

“Speaking of which,” Queen Toriel frowns in disapproval. “Sans. I seem to recall you promising something about _not_ letting any human get to the castle?”

Blue Sans looks a little sheepish. He glances down and to the side, avoiding eye contact. “Eh, mweheheh, I…tried?”

Even Frisk doubts that. They remember him saying a lot of weird stuff about how they could have really hurt people in the past, even though they didn’t, but he didn’t even kill them once. That’s practically encouragement.

Actually, he _did_ outright give them encouragement. A lot of it.

“Frisk is very persuasive!” Blue Sans protests. “And they’d already come so far, and…how could I say no to that _face_?”

That’s fair. Frisk is very persuasive for someone whose main form of communication is through facial expressions. Their life has depended on it before, and often. They give Queen Toriel their saddest begging face to demonstrate—Blue Sans shouldn’t get in trouble with her just because he helped them.

Queen Toriel, to her credit, manages to hold on to her disapproval for an entire second before crumbling. “Oh, very well. I suppose it did work out for the best, in the end. I shouldn’t complain.”

“Hey, Sans, I didn’t know you knew the Queen,” says Loud Alphys. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier, you little nerd? I wanna know when people know each other!”

“actually, i didn’t know that, either,” Cozy Papyrus adds.

While the lot of them are discussing Blue Sans’s apparent ability to know everyone, Asgore tells Frisk, “We don’t quite remember what happened back there, but it seems like the Barrier has gone for good. If you want to take a walk around first and say hi to your other friends, we will wait here, but…if you’re ready to go, we will follow you up. It would not feel right to see the Surface without you.”

The Barrier, gone…Frisk almost can’t believe it. They were just trying to go home, but now, all of their friends from Wonderland can be free! It’s exactly what they want in the real world, and they can’t help but feel a burst of pride that they’ve helped it happen here. Even if this world isn’t their world, they’re happy that, somewhere, monsters are going free.

If they really leave the Underground and find that they can’t make it back home, they think they might be able to accept this. It will be hard to live in a world so strange and different from their own, but maybe Blue Sans was right. Maybe they can be happier here?

The thought stings bitterly, but Frisk thinks that with time, the pain may become manageable. They’re not sure. They think they might like to find out.

They nod to Asgore, and point eastward, towards the room that had the Barrier before. Their friends follow them out into the view of a setting (rising?) sun.

* * *

The sky is lovely from the cliff that Frisk and their friends stand on. The twinkling human city in the distance completes the scene. Something about it is…ephemeral, maybe.

Frisk can feel their DETERMINATION, cradled close in their SOUL…it’s warm and bright and sings to the monsters around them, sings to their presence and the future they see before them.

It’s not the future they saw for themself before the Long Fall; the difficult uphill battle that they were sure would be worth it in the end. This is a gentler future. This is a future in which they’ve tried hard enough, they’ve been killed enough, and after all of that, they can rest.

If they call for help, someone will answer, and that person will not be there just to attack them while they’re weak or laugh coldly while they fall.

As they watch the bright sun, Frisk begins to let go. They agree to be the ambassador to monsters, to stay with Asgore because they have nowhere else to go. They quietly gaze at the sky and try to press this moment into their memory, to preserve it forever, past space and time and darkness. They think about their future.

Blue Sans…Their Sans? Just Sans?

Sans approaches them, and they smile softly as they turn to face him fully. They can see him, and Cozy…

They can see Sans and Papyrus, and Asgore and Toriel and Undyne and Alphys. Each of them are happy. Frisk’s Voice-friend is happy. Frisk is happy, too.

The last wisps of one particular determination that Frisk was holding on to fall away. It’s not one they’ve held on to for long, but…maybe they don’t need to fight so hard to want to stay here; to try not to fall any farther than they already have. Maybe they don’t need DETERMINATION to help them cling to this one scrap of peace they’ve found. Maybe they’ll be allowed to just _be_.

They let go.

Sans stumbles uncharacteristically as he holds out a hand to help guide them to the others. His eyes are wide, contentedness swapped for surprise and his feet shoot out from under him and he overbalances. He yelps. His outstretched hand connects with Frisk. Relaxed and lost in their thoughts, they don’t react as quickly as they normally would.

Frisk stumbles backwards one step.

Frisk stumbles over what should have been more ground between them and the edge of the sheer cliff face.

Frisk does not find that ground, because around them is an afterimage of machinery they never thought they’d see again outside of their nightmares, around them is a gaping hole in the world, and their eyes lock with Sans’s and their arms reach out and his hands reach back and they call for help—“ _Sans!_ ”—and they see him, washed in golden light like sunrise, like sunset, like a hallway, like justice served for somebody else; his eyes are wide and his smile is gone and he really is reaching for them, this time, and they feel his blue magic tug on their SOUL a touch too gently, a second too late; even as the sharp red attack still lodged in them drives them backward.

He’s saying something, but their own voice is all that echoes in their ears as they fall back into not-dark not-cold not-here nothing, missing his grasp by a fraction. Their own voice shouting _Sans!_ , and then, the memory of another: “ _heh. better luck in the next one, human_.”

Frisk’s mind, again, shatters to pieces. They fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so no one told you life was gonna be this way... *clapclapclapclap* you fall into the void just when it's all okay~
> 
> So! Which 'verse do you wanna see next?


	6. Fall Into Rhythm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frisk falls, again; lands, again; meets someone new. Again. 
> 
> They're getting the hang of this, and it's all fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Briefing:**  
>  DanceTale: everything is pretty much the same, except that dance is vitally important to monster culture and communication. Every monster has their own unique dance style, and encounters blend the styles of two monsters to create perfect communication between two monsters. Papyrus's style is Latin, and Sans's is hip-hop. Sans only ever dances in private or with his hood up, because he's shy. Chara has an acrobatic and unpredictable modern style, and normally Frisk would have elegant and controlled ballet style. In this particular story, they,, do not have that.
> 
> Note on Latin dancing: It's very energetic, with a lot of motion and a close partner connection. Really good Latin dancing requires both partners to be extremely observant of one another. It's very difficult to give up planning or overt control over your own actions in order to follow the slightest change of someone's weight, and believe it or not, leading is almost as hard. A bad connection between partners can really end a lot of the fun aspects of the dance, and make everything really hard :(

Frisk is falling, again. Still? It’s hard to think with the rushing going past/through/beyond all the scattered little pieces of their mind. It’s hard to try to call for help. Some part of them knows that in this not-place, help won’t find them.

Their Voice doesn’t argue. Every piece of their mind feels empty.

This time, as they fall, they are certain that they fall past something. Almost-light, almost-feeling, almost-existence. They aren’t sure whether to reach out to it or flinch away, whether catching one part of their mind on it would stop the fall or shatter them forever, and before they can decide, the something-sensation passes by them. They’re going very fast.

Was that another faint impression, farther away? Or did they imagine it?

It’s difficult to think. Frisk is falling.

They only have an instant’s warning, almost an intuition, before light and color exists and they slam into a bed of flowers.

They land on their side this time, badly.

Their hip is going to be really bruised, they think, before their mind catches up with feeling and sight and sound and existing in a world and being alive(?)

This time, they don’t waste time with passing out, or waiting for the overwhelming sensations to stop. When their eyes refuse to focus at first, they crawl blindly to their knees, and then their feet. The sensation even of their sweater against their arms is overwhelming, and louder than that is the pain in their SOUL, still, again. They hope Blue Sans’s magic didn’t hurt it worse. They think that would make him sad.

Sans…

That kind of thought is distracting, they decide. No time for that. They need to move forward. They focus on blinking a lot, ignoring how every eyelash seems to irritate their skin, and stumbling forward, searching for a wall to grab.

They don’t bother to check the room out. They don’t think about anything. As soon as they reach the rough stone, they use it as a guide and press onward.

* * *

After dancing with Toriel (which is _not_ , in fact, a polite way to say that she was trying to kill them for the sake of killing them, though it still involved her hurling fire magic at them, at least), Frisk is beginning to think they understand how this world works.

They do not understand how the universe works, or what has brought them here, or if they’ve been betrayed again (no, that can’t be right, can it? It was an accident, a mistake, they trusted him, they _trusted him_ ) or if they’re maybe dead, or if any of this is really happening to them, or what. Questions like ‘how’ and ‘why’ are right out.

But Frisk hasn’t gotten this far in life by stopping to answer the big questions, so they’re moving forward like always, one step at a time, not hurting anyone. They choose a goal—get to the Barrier—pretty much at random, and they work towards it as best they can. They can’t afford to stop right now.

As they’re moving forwards, they’re beginning to understand how this world works. It’s _like_ the real world, sort of, except that dancing is to this world what LOVE is to the world Frisk Fell from.

This might be really nice and cool, if Frisk knew how to dance at all.

This is what brings them to meeting with Dancing World’s Sans.

Once they leave Toriel again, they push through the same heavy door they have twice before, and out into the familiar woods of Snowdin. This world’s Snowdin is still chilly, but no dust or desperate claw marks mar the heavy door to the Ruins, and Alphys/Undyne’s camera is on the right side of the bush and not the left. Frisk glances around through the dark, column-like trees, but they don’t see any Sans anywhere.

He’ll be seen when he wants to be, they suppose.

Frisk worries at a new burn mark in their sleeve—careless, should have noticed that last fireball in the wave—and trudges down the packed snow path. Their footsteps crunch beneath them, and they keep their eyes on the ground this time.

Sure enough, the branch is across the path again. It’s whole in this world, too. It has a pretty blue ribbon tied around it, but Frisk already has a ribbon, so they leave it. The branch looks very nicely dressed up, in their opinion. They step delicately over it, trying to avoid scuffing the bark.

They walk ten paces and feel cautiously optimistic before they hear a half-familiar sound that raises the hairs on the back of their neck and makes them dive off the path, crouching low in the snow and automatically whirling to face the source. Around them, the snow scuffs and sprays out with their momentum, and their feet slide for a moment, carrying them to the relative safety of Not Where They Were A Moment Ago. They don’t see anything on the path, of course, except a steaming line of melted snow where the branch used to be.

That poor, poor branch. Doomed in every world. Frisk thinks half-seriously about LOADing to try to save it. They don’t do it.

Rising from their defensive crouch, Frisk walks back to the remains of the branch. All that has survived the attack that hit it is a little blackened stick with a singed ribbon tied around it. The snow is melted in a straight line that runs neatly through where the stick is, and most of it has vanished without a trace. The remaining stick steams gently.

Do they have inventory space for that? They can make some, if they eat a Spider Donut. What if they need healing later, though?

They look at the charred stick. Its ribbon flutters pathetically in the breeze. This poor casualty of inter-world destiny and Sans-es everywhere.

Frisk puts the stick away in their inventory. Its remaining bark is rough and reassuring in their hands, and the shiny burn mark feels smooth and nice. Maybe they can play fetch with the dogi later, or something.

They can sense puzzlement, but they’re not really sure if it’s from Sans or their Voice or their imagination. That’s alright. They keep on walking down the path, reaching into their inventory to pet the stick reassuringly. They ignore the footsteps behind them, and the shadow they swear they can see out of the corner of their eye, as they approach a familiar bridge and gate. This time, the gate is still tall and broad, but shaped kind of like a very large handrail. It’s still too wide to stop anyone.

They come to a halt several steps from the bridge, and wait for footsteps approach them, this time impossible to mistake for their own. The footsteps are timed like clockwork, crunch-and-crunch-and-crunch-and-crunch, coming closer and closer. Frisk stands still, looking at the bridge, and when the footsteps get to the edge of where they’re willing to have a strange Sans in their blind spot, Frisk takes a single step forward to keep that distance. Crunch-and-double-crunch and the steps stop.

“Human,” says a Mysterious Voice (Sans) behind them. Their carefully-maintained distance should, by their estimate, keep them just out of his reach. “Don’t you know how to greet a new pal? Turn around and give me a bow.”

Oh, that’s a new one…they thought he would ask them to shake his hand. But monsters in this world so far have liked to bow before dances, right…? That kind of makes sense, they decide.

Frisk takes a step forward, towards the bridge, and pivots to face the new Sans a touch farther away than before. They bend their back a little to bow, keeping upright enough to be light on their feet and watching his hands. Only once they’re standing up straight and ready do they investigate this New Sans.

New Sans has flat teeth like Blue Sans’s, and is also wearing blue—there goes color-based nicknames as an idea. He’s got a worn blue hoodie on with a hole in one pocket, a little bit like Real Sans’s (Red Sans’s?), only this Sans’s is less fluffy and also less spiky at the zipper. His eyes are white and he doesn’t seem to have any scars or cracks.

He looks a little bit surprised, and quickly dips his shoulders a bit in what might be considered a bow back. “oh, hey. manners. neat. uh, hi. you’re a human, right? that’s just fantastic.”

Frisk nods, and Newest Sans rubs his hands together disconcertingly. He looks a little uncomfortable.

“anyways, i’m sans. sans the skeleton,” he says. “i’m, uh, actually supposed to look out for humans…my sentry station’s up ahead. but, i don’t…really care about that stuff.”

He shrugs, and Frisk automatically takes a half-step back as his hands move with the motion, only to shift their weight back to their previous position as soon as New Sans’s hands fall back to his sides. Even through his smile, Sans’s sharp eyes seem to note the movement. He sways back to match their forward motion, then settles as they do.

Frisk is…a little annoyed at the mimicry. It feels a little like Sans is mocking them.

“well, _i_ don’t really care about capturing anybody, but my brother, papyrus…hey, is that him coming down the path?” His eyes fix on a point over their shoulder, and Frisk takes another half step back, crossing to the side so that they can turn to look without giving up their ability to view this newest Sans, and putting them out of the direct line of the path off the bridge.

They can’t see Papyrus approaching, but they can’t say with confidence that he isn’t. Sans of any variety seems to have a seventh sense for where his brother is at any time.

“hey, i’ve got a great idea. why don’t you come with me? yeah, just follow along. this gate thing is too wide to stop anyone.” Newest Sans takes two economical steps past Frisk, and they match him pace for pace, backing up in plenty of time to get out of his way before following him across the bridge. He sets a quick but easy pace and guides them to his station, again with a conveniently-shaped lamp.

This Sans leads them right up to the lamp, then turns to face Frisk, leading them the last step to hide behind it and hesitating a half-beat when they’re in position before moving on his own.

“yeah, just stay here. it’ll be great,” he says, almost as an afterthought.

He circles an even distance away from Frisk, retracing his steps to land back close to the main path just in time for Papyrus to trudge loudly into the station’s clearing.

Frisk can’t see either brother from their hiding place, but Papyrus’s crunching footsteps land closer to Sans than they have in either of Frisk’s other worlds, and a softer crunching implies that Sans is moving, too—not getting closer or farther away, just two monsters moving in the same general area as one another. Frisk is filled with curiosity.

 _It’s just dancing_ , says a thought that could be Frisk’s. It could also not be Frisk’s, though. Frisk is hopeful.

Before they can think too deeply about it, Sans speaks.

“heya, bro,” This Sans says. His voice is warm.

“‘Hey’ is what I was about to say, brother!” Papyrus says. This Papyrus has the volume of the original, at least; if slightly diminished by being in a reasonable conversational distance with Sans rather than shouting across a clearing. “As in, ‘Hey! Those puzzles that Sans has set to catch humans seem like they are very uncalibrated! Almost as if! He has neglected them! For the eighth day in a row!”

“wow, paps. you make me sound like a real lazybones,” Sans audibly winks.

“Augh!! I don’t even know what you’re doing that could be more important! Than puzzles! You just hang out by your station! You’re not even dancing! What’s so interesting about just standing in the woods here?!?” Papyrus complains. He sounds a _lot_ like Real Papyrus. Less violent, though. Frisk isn’t sure how to feel about that.

“eh, mostly i look at this neat lamp. wanna see it?” This Sans says. Frisk tenses, just in case This Papyrus is more curious than Cozy Papyrus, but he doesn’t seem to be—the crunching they hear doesn’t get any closer, and they imagine him stomping his feet.

“No! I do not want to waste my time staring at a lamp, when at any time, a human could come through! We have to be ready, Sans! Surely, I will dazzle them with my unparalleled dancing skill, and capture them with style and excellence! It will be a dance like none that has ever been seen before! A beauteous show of talent and grace! And then! I! The elegant and suave skeleton of everyone’s dreams! Will finally see the recognition I deserve!” Papyrus insists. Frisk tries not to giggle. “I must prepare my most delicious puzzles! And practice my most impressive dancing! For a performance like none the Underground has ever seen!!!”

“maybe you can practice with this conveniently human-shaped lamp,” This Sans suggests.

Stamp-stamp-stamp-stamp. The snow under Papyrus must be compacted into ice by now.

“Sans! A lamp cannot help me! It cannot respond to my moves! We cannot understand one another. I cannot create art with a lamp! It is not even alive, Sans!” Papyrus says. Frisk pats the lamp reassuringly. They think it’s very helpful and they’re very glad that Sans does not routinely destroy and/or vaporize it in every timeline.

“well,” Sans starts, but Papyrus interrupts him.

“No! I can see the look on your face. Do not finish that sentence! I will abide by no half-rate puns or lazy wordplay on this day! Not until you! Recalibrate! Your! Puzzles!” Papyrus says.

“come on, paps, throw me a bone here—”

“Aaaugh! You! Are a menace! I am going to attend to my puzzles. And perhaps you! Should consider how much work you still have to do! Because it is a ton!” Papyrus’s footsteps stop back through the clearing, and down the path a ways, before finishing, “A, skele-ton!!! Nyeheheheh…”

Frisk waits curiously, to see if he’ll return again, and sure enough, a moment later, they can hear him crunching back. He does stop at the edge of the clearing this time, finishing with a decisive, “Heh!” and some more shuffling sounds—Sans’s quieter footsteps are over there, too, so he must have done that thing where he is in one spot one moment and then he is in a different spot in the next moment without any of the steps in between.

This time, Papyrus’s retreat is more final. Frisk peeks out from behind the lamp, and This Sans is looking down the path with his hands in his pockets.

He looks over to Frisk, and then back to the path. And then over to Frisk. The path. Frisk. Frisk is getting a little worried about him getting dizzy when he stops decisively.

“actually, hey, come here a minute,” says New Sans.

Seeing no reason not to, Frisk unhides and approaches. Sans watches them as they come to a halt at the distance they normally maintained with Blue Sans—out of a lunging reach, but close enough to talk comfortably if one member of the conversation happens to be quite loud.

“nah,” he says. “like, over here. yeah, just for a second. i wanna see something.”

That sounds like a trap if there ever was one. But Dancing World Sans hasn’t actually hurt Frisk at all, and they’re at a full 14/20 HP, so they take two cautious steps closer. Then, as he looks at them expectantly, one more.

They watch Dancing World Sans. Dancing World Sans watches them. Then, suddenly, he takes a sharp step towards them, both hands leaving his pockets, one reaching toward Frisk’s shoulder, and they dive to the side quick as a breath. With a roll—irregular enough that most ranged attacks will miss them, fast enough to get out of the way of closer combat—they come to their feet several paces away from him, hands in front of them and ready to block or twist.

“…oh, boy,” says Sans. His hands come down smoothly and go back to his pockets. He closes his eyes. “welp.”

…Frisk is still working out how dangerous this world is going to be. Sometimes they get it wrong.

It doesn’t look like he’s going to attack, so Frisk trots forward a step to get back to a comfortable talking distance and begins brushing crusted snow off of their sweater. Luckily, the clearing was pretty packed-down already, so they didn’t kick up a lot.

“so, uh.” This Sans looks awkward. “i get that you’re human and all, but…somebody’s told you about dancing, right? you know what that…is? as a concept? word? anything?”

Frisk nods. They do, in fact, know what dancing is.

Sans lets out an audible breath. “great. good. yeah. and that…jumpy, springy thing you do is your…style?”

He’s wincing, looking anywhere but at them.

Frisk tilts their hand noncommittally. It’s not really _their_ style per se, but maybe the style of the whole world that they Fell from? The…Fell…style? Is that a kind of dance?

“it, uh, is? or it isn’t?” Sans prompts. “i’m gonna need more than a ‘maybe.’”

Frisk shrugs.

_The right answer is ‘no.’_

Frisk shakes their head.

Sans looks massively relieved. “oh. ok. that’s just, a thing you do. you just don’t know how to dance, like, at all.”

Frisk feels their face go hot and their hands go cold(er)—is it really that obvious? Have the monsters in the Ruins just been watching them dodge projectile magic and realizing that they have no idea what they’re doing? Is someone going to attack them for this?

_Don’t be ridiculous._

“look,” says Sans. “i don’t really dance with people. that’s a lot of effort. but, uh, paps kinda has his heart set on this ‘dancing with a human’ thing, and he’d be really disappointed if he tried to dance with you and you’re trying to be a light-year away the whole time. you get me?”

Humiliatingly, Frisk feels their eyes sting. Is Sans saying they’re just not good enough to meet his brother? Without even knowing them? _Ouch._

“oh, jeez. no, don’t look at me like that. that’s not—hey, i’m not trying to be a jerk, just…oh, boy. uh. i didn’t say you’ll never be able to learn,” Sans tries. His eyes dart from their face to the path that Papyrus took, as if his brother will come back and scold him at any moment.

“look, just, you wanna make a deal? i think we can help each other,” he says.

Frisk blinks rapidly. Sans apparently takes this as encouragement. “it’s—your partner awareness is great. response time, yeah, good. you’re just not a dancer, right? that’s probably fine as a human, but down here you’re gonna be a lot happier with a few tips. and i’d be happier if you know what you’re doing by the time you meet my bro. you don’t have to be great, paps loves teaching, but, uh, just being able to dance at all would be an important starting point. he’s pinned a lot of hopes on this…i don’t want him to be disappointed, you know?”

…

This Sans is an _asshole_.

Frisk’s face absolutely burns, and their fists automatically ball up around the hem of their sweater. He’s not wrong, but he’s…this is just like being at home! Sans is just being mean to them for no reason because he thinks it’s funny!

Frisk puffs out their cheeks and makes a fierce expression, refusing to acknowledge how their face is trying to smile a little bit. They _knew_ Blue Sans had to be the exception. Now This Sans is mean, too! Just, dancing-mean instead of murder-mean. That’s way better.

They can’t argue with him, though. Their dance with Murder-Free Toriel was hard and disjointed enough, and she was already disappointed in them—letting Papyrus down would be the worst. And, if he’s anything like Real Papyrus, involve threats of doom.

The problem is, they _know_ this already. They’re _trying_. They’ve been trying to dodge attacks in a way that’s elegant and pretty, to walk with the kind of poised grace that Murder-Free Toriel from this world has. They know that their dodging can be a little jerky and unpredictable—that’s the point! They don’t want to be _stupid_ and leave themself wide open to an opponent’s attack!

…but jerky and unpredictable is a bad thing, here.

Maybe This Sans really can help them. He has to know how to dance, right? So he can teach them how to dodge the way people do in this world! He pretty much wants the same thing that Frisk does. They’re going to meet This Papyrus and not let him down, and Sans is going to help them. Frisk is determined.

“uh, i’m gonna take that as a ‘yes,’ ok?” says New Sans. His eye sockets are making a bothered shape, and his hand is coming up to rub at the back of his skull. “so, uh, i’ll just…give you a few tips on…partner dances. they’re not really my thing, but…uh, we’ll give this a shot.”

Alright. Sounds like their lessons are going to start right away. Good; the sooner they can learn this, the sooner they can keep going.

Frisk braces themself to dodge. New Sans’s eyelights flick over them as they shift their weight to the balls of their feet, bobbing side to side slightly to get some traction in the snow.

“whoa, ok, i am seeing our first problem here,” Newest Sans says. He spreads his hands out low in front of him in a gesture reminiscent of Blue Sans. Frisk’s SOUL twinges. “look, if someone says ‘let’s dance,’ how do you respond?”

Frisk glances down at their broadened stance and readied hands, then around at the clearing to check out the battle field, then returns their gaze to Sans’s hands. Sans’s attacks all come from his hands. They nod to show him they’re ready.

This Sans watches them with sharp eyes.

“…no,” he says. “no, that’s not it. look, you try asking me for a dance and i’ll show you what to do, ok?”

Frisk switches from their broad defensive stance to a more aggressive one—light on the balls of their feet, one foot slightly in front of the other, ready to dart forwards and then retreat before he can react. They pull This Sans into an encounter.

Before they can do anything, he SPAREs them and the encounter dissipates. Weird—they didn’t know monsters could SPARE. They puff out a breath, relaxing their stance into something more conversational.

“oh, boy,” says This Sans, more to himself than to Frisk. “this is gonna be a lotta work. ugh, i hope you’re happy, paps.”

Then he makes a long, slow blink—Frisk is a little worried, what if they’d been hostile and attacked while his guard was down? —and to Frisk, he says, “ok. that’s, right there, just starting it out like that? that was pretty forward. you can’t just…do that, ok? there’s nuance to this stuff. tradition. you got it?”

Frisk tilts their head.

Newest Sans draws on his patience.

“alright. ok. obviously i’m signing up for more than an hour or two here.”

That sounds like reconsideration…Frisk makes their best begging face at Teaching Sans. They really hope he doesn’t decide to charge them crazy prices and then use these lessons to play an elaborate prank on them…

He seems to struggle for a minute, glancing down the path behind him, before sighing. “…fine. yeah, fine, put the sad eyes away, i’ll do it. how about this: i’ll show you the real basic stuff now. or, uh, i’ll try to fix the worst of the stuff you do totally wrong. just, generally. we’re gonna pretend you’re a functioning human. were you raised by…? nevermind, i don’t want to know.”

Rude. Frisk wrinkles their nose. This Sans grimaces and shifts his weight, bones clicking together as he does. “after that, you can meet my bro and do some puzzles. then, later, i’ll catch ya before you dance with him, and we’ll work on dancing, you know, as a concept. which you have no idea of. at all.”

Frisk frowns, because they think he might have called them stupid a few different times in that, but it’s hardly the worst thing anyone’s ever said of them. It’s downright friendly, compared to Undyne from the world they fell from.

Besides, monsterkind in this world still needs seven human SOULs to break the Barrier, so they’re not out of the woods in terms of people attacking them. If they’re not going to be able to pull monsters into combat to prevent an ambush in this world, they’ll need to learn what else they can do. They nod decisively.

“great. do you, uh, talk at all?” This Sans asks.

Frisk makes an ‘X’ with their arms. Not since the last part of their Long Fall, and not since the first part of the Long Fall before that.

Sans nods.

“could be worse. let’s start with introductions, ok? if you want to dance with somebody, you gotta make a gesture, right?” This Sans asks, offering out one hand. He has a hesitant grin—

_A touch too gently, a second too late—they miss his grip by a fraction…_

—Frisk darts forward to take Sans’s hand and holds on tight. They’re not missing it. They hold on to him.

New Sans seems a little startled, and almost flinches back at their sudden movement _—just the bare minimum of wariness for any monster who wants to live through—_ he looks at their joined hands, and then back up at Frisk.

Frisk blinks at him, and then at their hands. Both of Frisk’s hands are wrapped around This Sans’s.

Oh.

This Sans. New Sans. Kind-of-a-jerk Sans.

…he probably thinks they’re a little weird now.

They let go with one hand and hold on to him a regular amount, with a totally normal intensity that’s completely proportional to the situation at hand. Which is, learning. Frisk is learning how to act like they’re from the Dancing World. Dancing World’s Sans is teaching them so they aren’t weird like this when they meet Papyrus. Dancing World’s Sans is kind of judgy about strange humans.

Right.

“well,” This Sans says. “close enough. you got it. great. yeah, when someone asks you to dance, just do something like that—the important part is that you agree to what they’re offering, get it? so, if i hold out my hand, you take the hand. preferably with just one hand, and not like your life depends on it. that lets me do something like this—”

He takes a step to the side, using Frisk’s hand to try to make them follow, and they rip out of his grasp and skip backwards two quick steps. New Sans just watches them, hand open, before he rubs between his eyesockets.

“…which, with anyone else, would let me start leading them.” He sounds disappointed. Frisk moves closer again.

So, Mean Sans says that monsters will make a gesture before they start an encounter, and Frisk is supposed to do something that matches it.

That’s pretty easy to understand—it’s like how some monsters will get offended if they attack Frisk and Frisk doesn’t even pretend to attack back. It’s disrespectful. Plus, some monsters don’t feel good about giving up a battle peacefully without ever being attacked. So Frisk just needs to make their first move mirror the monster’s first move. It was sort of like that in Wonderland, too, in a gentle and nonviolent way. Right? Maybe?

Their Voice doesn’t say they’re wrong. That’s something.

Sans is still looking dismal, so Frisk decides to show him that they’ve learned something. Papyrus—both Papyrus-es—the Papyri they’ve met were each always happy to see them copy him.

Their SOUL _hurts_. It’s really annoying. They’re trying to impress someone, here!

They try to stand up with the sort of lightness This Sans has, like he doesn’t weigh anything at all, and sweep their hand out without moving the rest of their body. Thinking hard, they bow a little with the gesture, trying to be as elegant as possible. He said they should bow earlier, right?

New Sans blinks at them before morphing his defeat into his regular smile. At least, Frisk assumes it’s regular. Both of the other Sans-es have smiles.

_Hurts._

_Maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much if you stopped poking at it. Idiot._

This Sans steps with his left foot to stand directly in front of Frisk, making them rise out of the bow or risk bonking him with their head, and takes the hand with his own. It’s not quite a handshake, more of a…resting point? Frisk might use it for leverage if they needed to jump, or to unbalance him and run away.

“wow. yeah, that’s way better for asking somebody to dance. you got it. way to go, kiddo,” New Sans says. “i kinda thought we’d be going on that one all day. …you do get it, right?”

Frisk isn’t sure what to do now that they’re holding hands and Sans is just a little closer than they’d like him to be. Couldn’t he at least not look directly at them? They push his hand back to him and back up.

“ok, well, you got it right one time. uh, right enough, anyway. we’ll take it. paps is probably gonna lead you since you don’t know what you’re doing, so let’s try that again and you follow this time,” New Sans says. He doesn’t seem too unhappy.

Frisk watches attentively as he takes one even step directly towards them, and comes to a halt with his feet shoulder-width apart. He’s at a more comfortable range than before, but still just a bit closer than they’d like.

This is a lot of wind-up for an encounter. Lots of rules. Doesn’t anybody believe in a good old-fashioned trap-and-ambush plan in this world?

Almost as a part of his walking motion, Newest Sans’s hand extends smoothly, crossing the space between them and ending up extended, not quite directly towards Frisk. It’s a little to the side. Maybe to show which hand he wants?

This is sort of a little like training with Real Papyrus. When it’s not bone attacks so fast they can barely dodge them, or traps so devious that ‘solving’ has to fall second to ‘surviving,’ sometimes it’s a bone attack that he’ll use really, really slowly, one step at a time, and hand over to them to practice with. He drilled them for hours on those. That’s not so bad.

Frisk tries to repeat what This Sans did as closely as possible, and rests their hand on top of his, face-down. He pauses for a moment while they scrutinize their position.

“that’s not bad. you’re gonna wanna step in next time. like so, see?” He pulls his hand back, not tugging or unbalancing, but with their own hand on top of his, Frisk feels the need to follow. They take their hand back and step back to disengage.

“well, no, not like that,” says Dancer Sans. “look, it seems like you’re happier leading, is that right?”

Frisk shrugs. It’s less about the leading and more about trust, but they’re not really sure how to explain that to Newest Sans.

It’s hard to describe to people in this world who they will and won’t allow to push them or guide them—how can they explain the idea of trust to someone who doesn’t understand it? How can they make him _get_ how important it is to be careful of who you allow to jerk you around? In the Real Underground, they’d never had to explain it—letting someone take your hand and lead you somewhere would be suicide.

_“be a good human and just cooperate for a sec, ok?”_

…those kinds of thoughts aren’t relevant. Frisk should stop thinking them. This world. This Sans. Stay in the present. They should get moving after this lesson.

This Sans seems to be just fine with a stranger getting in his space and getting leverage on him. That makes sense for him, probably—this world is pretty low-LV, and Sans of any world is pretty powerful and has crazy good reflexes.

Frisk, on the other hand…just can’t. Not that This Sans would necessarily kill them (Blue Sans was nice, he _was_ , so This Sans might be nice too, if they were to be thinking about this, which they aren’t), but still…it’s weird to let a stranger just walk up and move you around, right? It’s not strange for Frisk to not like that. Monsters in Dancing World are _weird_ and have _no concept of personal space_.

This Sans’s eye sockets narrow thoughtfully, and he hums, fiddling with the hole in his hoodie pocket.

“huh. let’s try it like this—you saw what i was doing as the lead, right? so let’s swap. you can try asking me to dance, and i’ll accept the right way so you can see what you’re supposed to do before you try it. ok?” Dancing World Sans’s eyes are bright and interested like Blue Sans’s would get when he talked about particularly tricky puzzles. He seems to be having fun with this. Frisk wonders if he ever wanted to be a teacher, like Toriel.

Frisk nods to show that they understand, backing off a few steps so that they can walk forwards like This Sans did. It’s still weird, but this way is better, right? They’re getting under his guard and not the other way around.

This Sans waits patiently, hands in his pockets. Right. How did he do this, again…?

Left foot first, walking very smoothly, and then right foot, then left steps a little too close to him and right catches up to it, facing right at him, and their hand goes out and a little to the side. That seems right.

“you’re great at this part,” This Sans comments, so they must have done well. Frisk gives a little smile of satisfaction. “uh, next time try to look at me when you’re inviting me, and not just stare at my pockets, but you’ve got the steps down pat. now watch what i do.”

He removes his hands from his pockets and steps even closer to them, uncomfortably so. Frisk sways back but carefully doesn’t move their hand. They watch closely as he rests his own hand on top of theirs, pressing down a little bit, and resist the urge to slip away from him.

He moves his right foot first, this time, and lands with his feet mirroring theirs, facing directly at them. His other hand hovers out a bit, but doesn’t cross an invisible line between the two of them. He looks at their face, ignoring their hands and feet. They could maybe trip him if they didn’t know that Red Sans and Blue Sans both had very good reflexes.

“got it? you wanna stand so that you can both fit behind a snow poff, facing your partner. we’ll worry about the other hand in a sec, but you gotta give some pressure through this one so i can tell where you’re going when we start to move,” This Sans says. He twists his hand so that he and Frisk are hi-fiving each other.

Oh, Frisk is getting this. It’s just like using your opponent for leverage. They test This Sans’s resistance a little to see if he’ll fight them when they try something, and he pushes back just enough to give them something to work with, watching them curiously.

This is supposed to mirror a FIGHT, right…? They started the encounter, This Sans accepted it, so now it’s their turn again? What to do…

Well, monsters have still been hurling magical attacks at them in this world, so they should try to win, too, right? Just like training with Real Papyrus. What would Real Papyrus do?

Dust him and laugh. That’s not helpful. Okay, what would Frisk do, in a friendly FIGHT? Without the turn system to back them up, and no way to tell when they can SPARE, they should aim to disable, right?

Hmm. This Sans probably has blue magic, so trying to flip him will just mean he makes himself too heavy to move, probably. Same with pushing him away. They could do that anyway, and see about getting away while he’s still affected by his own magic…but Teacher Sans said to keep their opponent close to them.

That means close quarters, which can be to Frisk’s advantage or disadvantage. No Sans that they’re aware of is much of a close-quarters fighter, so that favors them, but Blue and Red Sans were both very quick, and they’d be willing to bet Dancing Sans is, too.

Since he’s teaching them, he might let them get away with some moves that wouldn’t work if he were going all-out. He said not to use their other hand, just the one point of connection they currently have with him…

Frisk takes a moment longer to assess This Sans’s stance while he watches patiently. He’ll almost certainly dodge—Frisk isn’t very good at fighting to win. But, if they’re gonna try something, they think they have a decent idea.

Using their one-handed flat-palm connection, Frisk firms up the pressure between the two of them. Taking a chance, they take a step forwards, crossing their left foot over their right and turning a little in order to break the face-to-face connection.

Sure enough, Sans cooperates, taking a corresponding step back with his own left foot and opening his stance. That means he loses just a little bit of his well-centered balance. He looks a little bemused by their actions. Now that Frisk has their left shoulder towards him with their joined hands in between, they can work towards their goal: disabling their opponent.

Moving quickly, Frisk pushes the hand they’re holding towards and around Sans, taking advantage of his lopsided balance and spinning him to face away from them. They half-turn to follow, using one foot to stop Sans’s other so they stand front-to-back and Sans can’t escape except by stepping away from Frisk.

Without a weapon, they’re forced to use Sans’s own arm to disable him, bringing it over his head and to his opposite shoulder—sure enough, since this isn’t a real FIGHT, he keeps the connection between them, and with their feet stopping his, he can’t get his body out of the way. In two steps and just over a second, Frisk has Sans in a stranglehold with his own arm.

 _I win!_ Frisk takes their hand back, stepping back to release Sans. They bounce around to stand in front of him. He looks a little taken aback, but not angry—they give him a thumbs up.

“yeah,” he says, scratching at his skull a little. “i, uh, that was…something, actually? way to go. you got me to move how you wanted me to. i’m gonna assume that was how you wanted me to move…? that’s…pretty good leading, for a total beginner.”

Seeming to realize he’s coming dangerously close to praising them, he quickly backtracks. “i mean, you definitely don’t want to be messing with facing away from your partner yet. that’s advanced technique. try to keep your shoulders pretty much parallel to theirs for now. and definitely don’t, uh, strangle your partner. you want—here, let me show you.”

He puts his hand up again, and eager to learn, Frisk steps up close and joins him. Dancing is so interesting in this world! No strangling? Not facing away from your opponent is probably a good idea. They’re gonna get so good at this!

* * *

Teacher Sans yawns widely and stretches his…bones?

“ok. second lesson, we’re gonna start writing stuff down so i remember what we’re doing. so, what can you tell me about where we are now?” Teacher Sans has accepted his role with surprising grace. Red Sans would still be grumbling and throwing bones at them if he had to teach them something more than once. 

Frisk rubs their chest.

Then again, everyone in this world is pretty graceful, so maybe it’s not surprising that Sans has accepted his fate “gracefully”?

He's ruined their sense of humor.

They’re back in Teacher Sans’s sentry station clearing, which has been deemed far enough from Snowdin that no one will see Frisk’s weaknesses before they learn to correct them. Well, that’s why Frisk wants to be far from Snowdin. Teacher Sans just looked shifty and mumbled something about dancing in front of people.

He’s got a single, stained piece of notebook paper and no writing utensils to speak of, which he hands off to Frisk. A lesson in resourcefulness, maybe?

That’s alright, Frisk can do this. Sans watches them with bemusement as they trot over to the station itself, using it to write on, and take out the charred stick from their inventory. It has charcoal at the end of it, so that should be okay to write with, right?

It takes some pressure, but Frisk draws the stick down the paper, hearing Sans snort in the background and the snow crunch as he approaches. They hurry up, and by the time he’s ambled up to them, they have “SANS’S STATION” written in rough, spiky letters.

He did ask where they are, after all.

His snort breaks into a snicker as they push the paper back at his chest.

“y…yep, that’s where we are. good job, kiddo. i was really lost for a second there,” Sans laughs, wiping a hand over his eye. Frisk grins.

“tell you what, i’ll rustle up some tape later and we can stick it up, make sure nobody gets confused about that one again,” Sans says. “wait, no, wait, i can do you one better.”

Reaching into his pocket, Sans withdraws a…chewed piece of gum? Does Sans chew gum?

To Frisk’s delight, he sticks it right on the corner post of the station, and slaps the paper on top of it. It flaps in the breeze. This is perfect. Sans’s station has been completed.

_This is stupid._

No, it’s fantastic. This is the best. Sans grins proudly at his new décor, and Frisk applauds.

“welp. we’ve done good here today,” Sans says. “i’d say that earns me a break. i’ve done a great job.”

Frisk pokes him hard in the rib. They’ve learned that Teacher Sans tends not to protect himself from attacks, aside from some bellyaching after the fact.

“what, you don’t agree? you wound me, buddy. i’m wounded. now i definitely need a nap, i’m injured,” he teases. Frisk shakes their head. Their cheeks ache from smiling. Teacher Sans is fun!

“no? you sure are a taskmaster,” Teacher Sans complains. “ugh, fine. how about i give you a pencil and you get started on writing out where we are _with dancing_. what you’re good at and what we need to be sure you learn before your dance with paps, that kind of thing. then i’m getting work done _and_ i can take a nap.”

That sounds great to Frisk!

* * *

“wow, lesson five already. that’s the number of fingers on one hand. one more lesson and you’ll need a cool mutant hand to count them.” Teacher Sans ambles up to Frisk, and they kick the snowball into the golf hole one more time. An orange flag appears—he threw them off their rhythm. Frisk takes the time to collect their winnings from the hole.

They didn’t plan on having a lesson today. They were just thinking they’d play snow golf until they could afford Muffet’s treats, in case she exists in this world, to avoid painful exsanguination. They can take a break. They bounce on their heels and give Teacher Sans a thumbs up.

“alright, what were we teaching you today? c’mere,” Teacher Sans pulls Frisk through a shortcut— _not-cold not-hot nothing nothing HOLD ON TO SANS_ —and they barely even break out in a cold sweat. It’s fine. He’s at least polite enough to pretend he doesn’t notice them shiver a bit every time he does that. It’s just an…inconvenience.

Not even that. Frisk isn’t thinking about it, so it’s already forgotten. It’s _fine_.

They appear in front of This Sans’s sentry station.

He must have gotten bored or lonely out here in the woods, because they’re pretty sure it’s still the middle of his shift. Frisk hurries around to the inside of his little hut and pulls their wrinkled paper out from under the counter. Their “SANS’S STATION” sign remains posted proudly on the front of the station, but this one is kept safe so it doesn’t blow away.

They look at the list they’ve worked out:

I’m good at:

~~Watching~~ _partner awareness_

~~Dodging~~ _reactivity/anticipation_

~~Leverage~~  
~~Tripping people up and knocking them off balance~~  
_body manipulation but only in a weird and hostile way_

Balance _i’ll give you that one_

~~Being fast~~ _precision/economical movement_

~~Outlasting people~~ _stamina_

Learned how to ask people to dance with me!

_also:  
spatial awareness  
body isolation but you only use it to make you movements harder to follow, that is the opposite of what you want, stop that  
physical self-awareness  
sad eyes, stop that too_

Sans can teach me:

How to dodge but make it pretty _aka smoothing out your motion, clean lines_

Walking better?

~~What stuff people are weird about~~ _you’re beyond help there_

_also:  
walking step  
simple tango  
promenade  
spinning 360 (correct habit of stopping halfway)  
spinning others without restraining them  
leading others without restraining them  
correct habit of: adding distance/fleeing  
cho: resisting lead  
cho: overanticipating  
~~eye contact~~ ok that’s too ambitious but at least look at your partner  
hesitation in lead  
better broadcasting of movements  
cho: clinging  
cho: trying to “win” dancing/restraining your opponent  
~~cho~~ : ~~switching between leading/following~~ actually that’s fine. can be fun  
communication while dancing_

_learned so far:  
extend/respond to invitation to dance  
cho: ambushing (wtf)  
spacing with partner, sorta  
ending a dance  
ending a dance with jerry  
~~cho~~ : ~~running away from lead~~ nevermind, still need to work on that one  
dancing puzzles_

It’s a long list of things Teacher Sans has decided they absolutely need to know before they can dance with Papyrus and not disappoint him. Doggo also noticed that Frisk comes to Sans’s station a lot, so now he also has to make sure they’re good at dancing so they don’t embarrass him now that people know they’re his friend.

This Sans is still kind of a jerk. It’s pretty funny. Actually, Frisk thinks he might just be shy—wait! That’s it!

This Sans’s new name is Shy Sans.

_Perfect. He would hate it._

It’s decided. Frisk grins sunnily at Shy Sans as they hand him the paper.

“oh, boy. i don’t trust that face at all. welp. let’s try to work on ‘following’ today, since you’re so eager to start. i’m gonna put my hands against yours and just start walking in any direction, and you’re gonna try to keep an even distance…”

* * *

“hm?” Shy Sans opens one sleepy eye, slumped over his station. “what’s that?”

Frisk giggles, and reaches out with a fork, trying to balance it on the plate of blackened spaghetti on his head.

“i see paps made something for lunch,” he says. “welp. howzabout this: you can have fun with stacking skills and i’ll work on my slacking skills…or, we can start lesson eight, and get some grillby’s afterwards?”

Frisk snatches back the spaghetti, catches the fork, and puts them both aside on the counter. Shy Sans gives an exaggerated yawn.

“ugh, you’re puttin’ me through my paces, kiddo,” he grumbles, already pulling a folded-up piece of paper from his pocket. He had to move the to-learn list onto another sheet after the first one was rendered a tragic victim of smudging and snowmelt. They’re not allowed to see this one, because it’s “super secret.”

“alrighty. lesson eight. that’s the number of fingers a spider has…” He rubs his eyes before stopping mid-motion and shooting Frisk a suspicious glance, as if they’d been the one to suggest it. “wait, don’t spiders have legs?”

Frisk points at the paper. They can do japery later, right now it’s time to learn dancing! They’re already way better at it than they used to be, and they wanna dance with Papyrus soon!

“geez, we’ll get there…actually, today’s special,” Sans says, folding the paper back up and sticking it in his pocket.

Frisk tilts their head. _Why?_ they try to ask.

“well. there’s, uh…did you ever wonder why i, uh, suggested all this in the first place? this whole…lesson thing? you’ve gotta know by now that it’s not my normal style to, uh, teach people…ever.” Shy Sans looks vaguely upwards. “uh. now that i think about it, i might not have taught anyone anything in my life before this. weird.”

Frisk shrugs. They’ve taught people how to be friends, mostly, to varying degrees of success. It’s pretty fun and not always deadly. Shy Sans is such a good teacher, and he likes it so much, so he has to have done something like that before, right?

“anyways. i didn’t come up with this outta nowhere. or the goodness of my heart—obviously.” He raps on his ribcage, which makes a disproportionately hollow, echoing sound through his shirt. How did he do that?

“the truth is, uh. i was kinda planning to prank you when we first met.” Shy Sans glances to the side, smiling. “but, uh, that didn’t exactly work out. you’re pretty hard to spook. i mean, i guess i know that now.”

Well, one world ago Frisk would have run in a blind panic when he met them at the bridge, but Shy Sans doesn’t need to know that. They nod confidently.

“but, uh, i noticed something else while i was up to that.” Shy Sans kind of…winces? “uh. well, let me just do some wild conjecture, right? just, you know, between friends and all, pal.”

Frisk nods tentatively. This doesn’t really sound very good…is Shy Sans _also_ gonna think they killed a bunch of people? Are all Sans-es destined to corner them and talk about their violent/nonviolent actions? Actually, isn’t he a little early with this? They don’t want to be here, suddenly. Shouldn’t they be moving on?

Their Voice nudges the idea that they’re paranoid. Also, they kind of owe him for teaching them so much.

Blue Sans wasn’t so bad…

Okay. They’ll listen. He’s probably fine.

“so. let’s say i’m a human,” Shy Sans says.

Frisk tries to picture him as a human. Fails step one. He wouldn’t look right with skin on.

“look, just imagine with me for a sec. theater of the mind,” says Shy Sans. “so, if i’m a human, i don’t know sh—uh, anything. i don’t know anything about dancing, right? i mean, i guess some humans do, but not really. not like i would if i lived with monsters.”

Frisk shrugs. They didn’t know much about dancing, even when they were living with monsters, before they landed here.

“sure. and since i don’t dance, even though i’ve got this whole weird fleshy body, i don’t really pay attention to it, right? …is that right?” He shakes his head. “doesn’t matter. the point is, i don’t pay attention to anyone else, either. like, i’m not looking at people’s bodies to try to communicate, i’m using my tongue and lungs and sound waves and gushy stuff. gross.”

Frisk nods along. Sometimes it’s easier to humor Sans.

Actually. If they think about it…before they fell for the very first time into their home Underground, real-actual-first Mount Ebott, Frisk didn’t pay as much attention to people’s hands…but they were also younger then, sort of. Well, they weren’t, because time is weird, but they were less aware, generally. They learned to pay attention to their surroundings after their first couple of deaths, and with the help of Flowey.

It really did pay off to start looking at people to anticipate attacks—not that they didn’t before, but…they have gotten better at it, they think. And Real Papyrus taught them a _lot_ about watching their opponents.

On second thought, they’re willing to believe Sans on this one—humans don’t watch body language like monsters do. At least, in two out of three worlds, they don’t. Frisk isn’t sure about Wonderland.

“so, uh, since i’m not really looking for it, i don’t really notice when people do weird things…flinch, maybe, or try to protect themselves when there’s nothing to protect themselves from, or when someone’s expecting me to hurt them.” Frisk doesn’t like where this conversation is going. “so, if i’m a human, i also don’t learn how to hide those things as well as i think i do.”

Sans looks them dead in the eye. “…am i wrong?”

Frisk hunches their shoulders…and then un-hunches them. They stand up tall with their head up and don’t let the frown that’s tugging on them win.

 _You don’t know me. You’re not my real dad,_ their Voice supplies dryly.

“heh. good one, kid. you show ‘em…or, me, i guess.” Shy Sans’s smile seems genuine. “look, i’m not asking about up there. i don’t wanna know. but around here, we pay attention, right? when someone’s body language doesn’t match up, monsters notice that stuff.

“it’s bad enough that you don’t know how to dance, but it’s worse that you know how to take a beating. if i’m honest…well, i didn’t want my bro to have to think about that stuff.” Shy Sans’s shoulders round a little bit, in apology, maybe? Embarrassment? “dancing with a human, it’s his dream. he doesn’t really get that humans don’t dance, right? so he’s pretty excited about it. i didn’t wanna see that dream crushed.”

Frisk consciously keeps their body language confident. They widen their stance a little and push their hands down to their sides and not in front of them. Nope, no, that’s too uncomfortable. They go back to fiddling with the stick in their inventory.

They want to think about what Shy Sans is saying, but it’s actually really hard to focus on their body this much when they’re not in a battle.

“heh. you can, uh, you can stop that now. it’s kinda creepy,” Shy Sans says, gesturing to all of Frisk.

Oh, good.

They instantly collapse into a more comfortable hunch, back on the balls of their feet and glancing around. Playing at confidence is terrible for their awareness.

“anyway. that’s what i wanted to do today. just, work on what you’re saying to people. especially ‘cause you don’t have words to distract anyone, this is gonna be a good thing to learn,” says Shy Sans.

Frisk bites their lip. Standing up straight for a few seconds was already uncomfortable…

Shy Sans seems to get what they’re thinking. He reaches out a hand and claps their shoulder, extending his reach to compensate for their usual tiny movement away from him. Has he been noticing that this whole time?

“look, buddy. i’m not asking you not to flinch, ok?” He ducks his head and bends to be a little smaller than them as he looks them in the eye. That’s something he learned from Frisk, they’re pretty sure—it’s not a way that people around here move. “if you wanna flinch, you got it. you wanna back away from strangers, sure. that probably makes sense with humans, if you really don’t dance up there. not so much touching, right?”

He clears his throat and glances away at the tree line.

“and, uh, this might surprise you, but…i don’t exactly love people getting all up on me, either.” He hunches his shoulders a bit and shifts in place. “uh. i get it, you know? it’s not always fun. sometimes you just react, and that’s—that’s not…bad.”

Shy Sans jostles them a little bit, and they cautiously allow it. Was that good? Is that what he’s saying they should do?

“i’m just asking you if you wanna learn how to use that reaction for something else sometimes. sometimes, you don’t wanna flinch at people—sometimes you don’t need to. so, lesson eight: we’re compensating for reflexes.” Shy Sans stands up straight, letting his hand fall from their shoulder. The discomfort in his face falls away, and he makes a broad, smooth gesture with his arms.

“when you flinch, that’s motion—can’t undo that. so what else can we do with that motion? how can we move to justify it? how can we anticipate movement around us so we don’t get startled in the first place? we’re gonna look at what you’re saying to other people today without ever opening your mouth—and we’re gonna learn how to make sure that it’s what _you_ want to say that comes out. so, starting out…”

* * *

“alright, kiddo.” Shy Sans checks something off on the to-learn sheet. “end lesson twelve, gold star for you, way to go. wanna get some ‘dogs and hang out with the dogi some? i hear they were lookin’ for you earlier. think you owe them a game of fetch or two.”

Frisk shakes their head. They have something they wanna do today already, and they’re determined that it’s gonna happen. They’ve been trying to convince him _forever_ , and he always pretends not to understand what they want, but today is the day! No matter what! They even wrote a letter, so he can’t ignore it!

They shuffle around in their inventory—mostly healing items, the stick with its burnt ribbon, odds and ends—and take out their carefully-made, handcrafted entreaty. They had to ask Grillby for the paper, and he had to ask Dogaressa, so he wouldn’t accidentally set it on fire. They hold it out to Sans, making a begging face as they do.

“what, for me? don’t tell me you made a reverse-lesson plan…” He shuffles it open and reads its contents. It doesn’t take long.

_I’m telling you, he’s gonna say no. You should have written more than ‘Sans—can I see your dance style please thank you.’_

Frisk pouts even more powerfully. _But I wanna seeeee. Everyone has special dance styles that’s all their own and Sans only ever shows me Papyrus’s! We’re friends for now, so I wanna see his!_

A curl of intrigue. … _For now?_

Sans folds the letter back up and tucks it away in his hoodie. “nope.”

Not to be deterred, Frisk tugs on his sleeve. _Please?_

“nuh-uh.”

They tug again. _Please please?_

“nah.”

Again. _But have you considered: please?_

“mmmnope.”

They duck into his line of sight despite his attempts to avoid their eyes. Shy Sans is certainly living up to his name, beginning to sweat a little bit, clearly flustered. Frisk isn’t sure why he wasn’t expecting to be cornered with this at some point—they’ve danced with nearly every monster in Snowdin, to varying degrees of success. Of course they want to dance with him!

“i don’t really dance with people,” he hedges. He’s already making excuses…which means he’s beginning to crumble. It was always the first sign that Red Sans would give them their way on something. Their SOUL throbs angrily, but they have more important things to pay attention to.

They clasp their hands and make sad, sad eyes at Shy Sans.

“oh come on, that’s not even fair,” he complains. “who taught you to fight dirty?”

An alternate version of him did, actually, but they won’t bring it up if he doesn’t. The thought still makes their SOUL sting more, but it’s true.

Well, Real Papyrus was the one who really taught them to fight dirty. Red Sans was the one who taught them to look sweet and go for the throat, mostly because he thought it was funny. Since Red Sans did enough ‘going for the throat’ for both of them, they don’t feel bad about only taking half of his advice.

They blink wide, wet eyes up at Shy Sans.

“you’re killing me,” Shy Sans says. “after all i’ve done for you. treachery. betrayal. i teach you how to dance and this is how you repay me.”

Frisk has already won and they both know it. _I’ll be damned,_ says their Voice. _I should have realized he’s a total sucker._

Everyone’s a sucker for a sweet kid who’s never harmed a fly. Well, once they get over their murderous impulses, they are. Some monsters take longer than others.

Shy Sans takes approximately a dozen dancing lessons and some puppy-dog eyes, it seems.

“ugh. put those away, that’s some high-grade weaponry right there—is this why you never carry anything? the real killer was inside you all along. heh. alright, fine. you’ve defeated me, human,” Shy Sans grumbles, pulling up his hood to hide in. “just, uh, don’t, uh, don’t tell anyone. ‘specially not paps, he’ll think i’m gonna start dancing with people again and i’ll have to disappoint him and it’ll be the worst. no telling. promise?”

Frisk nods rapidly, bouncing in place. _Yesyesyesyesyesyesyes._ They can’t wait!

“uh, i kinda wanna wait on this until you’ve…” He glances down the path—no, beyond that. To the rest of the Underground.

That’s something to think about…both Sans-es they’ve met so far have met them near the palace to sort of…sum up their time Underground? They’d thought it was a coincidence…is Shy Sans gonna do that, too?

…they decide not to think about it.

“but, i think i’ll lose my nerve, heh. so, uh…wait, one sec.”

Shy Sans moves to the hidden camera in his clearing and pulls out another chewed wad of gum. Where is he getting these? He sticks it over the video piece. “sorry, alph.”

That done, he returns to Frisk, hands crammed deep into his hoodie pockets, looking anywhere but at them.

“…any chance i can get you to close your eyes?”

Frisk shakes their head. He could kill them right now and they’d die watching. They can’t miss this!

“heh. uh, i guess…if i’ve gotta dance, you do, too. let’s call this your final exam, huh? come on, kiddo. show me what you’ve got.”

Frisk offers Shy Sans their hand, and he steps forward with a little nod. They wait a beat to let him get ready…and they pull Sans into an encounter.

They’re so excited. This is gonna be the _best_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shy Sans: so here's how to crush your true reactions/emotions in every situation and become a cool, chill, laid-back guy like me :)
> 
> Dance isn't something that translates well into text, so I'm not gonna write out Frisk and Shy Sans's actual dance. This chapter is long enough already, lol;; but! It was important to visit this 'verse. Frisk is learning things that are vital for any Underfell character to know in order to "pass" in other universes, especially if they don't plan on actually confronting their trauma. And who's a better teacher than an extremely observant guy prone to lies in a culture that pays close attention to body language and performance?


	7. The View From the Looking-Glass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not everything lost is forgotten. As Frisk falls blindly onward, what happens to the monsters left behind?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been super excited for this part...so excited that it grew very long, and I had to cut it in half. The second part will be coming out soon, but I didn't want to follow my 10k chapter with another 10k chapter. That's just too much chapter.
> 
> All the same, this is a scene I've been waiting for a while, and it's setup for one of my most anticipated scenes in the story!

Frisk does have their dance—both of their dances—and a lot more, besides. Sans and Papyrus and Undyne and Mettaton and King Asgore and the amalgamates and King Asgore again and Asriel. Frisk has their dances, and brings down the Barrier, and walks onto the surface with their friends.

Shy Sans does, in fact, meet them for dinner, and does meet them in the golden hall. It’s less scary than it could be, because Shy Sans isn’t a very scary monster, but he does show up. He talks about himself and asks them if they want to stay Underground, just like Blue Sans did. When he meets them in the hallway, he says that they did good and that he’s proud. He appears as a Lost Soul, and allows them to SAVE him. He’s not a lot like Blue Sans, but a lot of the things that happen when they take the Barrier down are the same in Dancing World as in Wonderland.

So Frisk isn’t exactly surprised when Shy Sans sidles next to them once they reach the Surface, watching the sun (is it setting or rising?) with the rest of their friends. Once again, he’s next to them, with his brother on his other side, in the golden light.

They think about stepping out of his reach. They don’t.

Instead, they reach into their inventory and hold on tight to the stick that they’ve kept for one long second. They watch all of their friends with sharp attention, trying to memorize everything about this moment...their friends, who they love, have reached the Surface like they deserve. Everyone in this world is happy. Everyone has their heart’s desire.

Frisk grips tight to the warmth of that thought, the happiness, their pride that they can be here for this important moment…and then they let it go.

Pretending they can keep this world will just make it hurt more to lose it in the end. They already know, in their heart, what is going to happen to them. They turn fractionally to acknowledge Shy Sans’s approach.

He’s smiling. He looks proud and content. A little like Blue Sans.

They miss Blue Sans.

They miss…

Shy Sans holds out a hand to them. He still doesn’t dance in front of people, but he’s willing to spin them around when he’s happy—and he’s certainly happy now. All of their friends are dancing in the sunlight. Undyne is spinning Alphys, Papyrus, and Asgore simultaneously. Even Toriel is stepping quietly to the tune of everyone’s hearts soaring together.

Frisk wants to join them. They don’t want to see how Shy Sans’s face would fall if they didn’t take his hand. They don’t want him to be disappointed in them.

Frisk…could maybe fight this, but…

Frisk doesn’t want to reject their friend. If they can’t join everyone in this celebration, then it won’t be because they didn’t try.

They take Shy Sans’s hand. His grip is steady and sure as he spins them in and spins them back out again and at the end of his arm span, his eyes widen and his eyelights shrink and he says something that they already can’t hear past the infinite nothing of the portal that opens up around them.

Instinctive panic rises in them and freezes their muscles. For a taut moment, Frisk holds onto Shy Sans’s hand and he pulls _hard_ , other hand already coming up to catch them with blue magic—and with a lance of furious pain, the bone attack in their SOUL hooks them back into nonexistence. Their hand is torn from his grasp.

Frisk sees Sans’s face as they’re pulled from him. He looks afraid and they want to reassure him, they do, but they don’t have time and their mouth is busy calling out “ _Sans_!” as if he could save them, as if this Sans is the one that could have spared them from this.

He can’t. He can’t, and Frisk knows it, but they still waste their last moment with him crying out for help that will never come.

Frisk’s last glimpse of Shy Sans is silhouetted against the golden sky. And then he vanishes.

They shatter to pieces and they fall.

* * *

The first time Sans sees the sun, it’s beyond anything he could have imagined.

The sky is golden, silhouetting trees and other mountains and vast, twinkling human structures far in the distance. They must be unfathomably tall—even in the distance, they rival the mountains in their reach for the sky. The clouds—clouds! Sans is seeing clouds!—are hazy and indistinct, not interrupting the light that spills everywhere. It’s like the sun itself is touching every little thing with beauty.

Books say that the sky isn’t always golden, but Sans kind of hopes it looks like this a lot.

Each of the monsters stare in absolute wonder. All Sans can think is that there has never— _never_ —been a moment as perfect as this one.

A weight he’d barely known he was carrying has been lifted. And here he’d thought he didn’t care about never seeing the Surface.

And to think, it’s all because of one human—not just any human, but one particular human.

Frisk is watching the sky along with the rest of them. They’re relaxed, for once; they stand close to Sans without glancing over obsessively to see where his hands are. He’s never seen them at ease like this. He glances at them out of the corner of his eye socket when he can tear his gaze off the hopeful sky.

Sans couldn’t be prouder of them. _See?_ he wants to say. _You did this. You’ve come so far._

There’s a whole world to explore. Frisk is acting a little more like a child and less like a survivor of whatever horrors they’ve seen before. After all of his careful gestures, they finally trust him. Papyrus is thrilled to be here, too, smiling up at the sky. Sans is so happy he could burst. He turns to his human friend, to thank them, to ask what they’re going to do now, to say something—

Frisk turns back to face him, smiling and relaxed. They are totally unaware as the cliff begins to crumble behind them. Pebbles and then fist-sized chunks of earth fall into oblivion, the destruction rolling closer to where Frisk is standing, totally at ease. They tilt their head as if to say _What, Sans?_ They’re going to fall.

Sans reaches out and tries to shout, to warn them. He sees his mitten over his hand, softening its outline, but not enough. Frisk flinches like always, confused by his sudden movement and a little scared.

Frisk’s own hands go up protectively to guard them against Sans.

 _No_ , he isn’t the danger here, _come here, Frisk, come to me, don’t fall, please—_ Frisk takes a step back, towards the ragged edge of the cliff.

Sans is still close enough, he’s right next to them, he can save them. Sans’s hands come up to grab Frisk, to pull them from the disappearing edge. They hate him touching their back or grabbing at them, but it’s okay, he’d rather have them frightened and alive than let them fall. He can save them. He won’t let them fall, he won’t let them die—

Sans can see his hands, his blue mittens moving of their own accord as they come to Frisk’s chest. Frisk doesn’t flinch away this time, even when something in the back of Sans’s mind screams that they should—but why would it be better for them to move away from Sans? They can trust him. He can save them.

Sans’s hands push hard.

Frisk’s face changes as they fall, slowly, too slowly, from old fear to new fear. He can track the instant that they realize that they aren’t going to find ground beneath them, startlement and then fear and then helplessness and despair. Still, they reach for the same hands that forced them over the collapsing edge of the cliff, calling out, “ _Sans_!”

They reach for him, they beg him to save them, but he can’t. Sans can’t reach them anymore, they’re too far away, they’re too close to that damned machine—he’s going to destroy that evil thing, he doesn’t care about the scientific breakthroughs, he’s going to smash it and there’s nobody left to stop him—Gaster’s hand reaches up as he falls—no, this is Frisk—they’re frightened of him one last time and they were _right_ to be afraid, they were right all along and they didn’t even know it—

 _Sans_ , they call—his glove is ripped from his hand and hovers as if it should fall with them— _Sans, save me, Sans, why_ —he’s killed them, he’s damned them to something worse than death—the ground is vanishing beneath his feet—the lab’s lights are blinding as they burst and glass rains down with the dirt—the machine is humming— _Sans_ — _Sans, please—Sans—_

“sans!”

Sans shoots upright in bed, shortcutting blindly forward, arm reaching out to catch—Papyrus.

Papyrus, who must have just broken the door open, because Sans is pretty sure he locked that and also the wall is splintered where the lock was. Papyrus, whose hoodie is caught in Sans’s bare fist, because he lost his left glove when he…when Frisk…

“sans, it’s me,” Papyrus says.

“…right,” Sans says, his voice small. “Papy. You’re here.”

The words come out rougher than he’d like them to—he’s not disappointed to see Papyrus, _never_ , no, he’s so relieved that his brother is still here, but…

In the instant between the dream and the waking, Sans is always left convinced that he can save them. It never seems to get easier to realize that there’s no one left to save.

Sans and Papyrus are on the Surface, now. The Barrier is gone. Frisk is gone. Gaster has been gone. It’s just Sans and Papyrus, now. Again.

Papyrus sighs, shifting, and Sans forces his fingers to untangle from his brother’s hoodie. He allows Papyrus to take his shoulders and shuffle him down the stairs, to the kitchen, and watches as Papyrus rifles through the cupboards for a glass. Papy likes to fret lately, guiding Sans along like he can’t take care of himself. Sans lets him do it. He’s just worried.

Worried and grieving. He misses his friend.

Sans isn’t sure whether he has a right to miss them, too.

Sans checks the clock. 2:11 PM. He managed to sleep a whole thirty-four minutes this time. Or, he was in bed for thirty-four minutes, which is close enough.

It’s been two weeks since the Barrier fell—two weeks since Sans felt the oddest sense of disorientation, of some deep, interconnected _wrongness_ , like he was moving but someone else was moving too. It pulled his hands forward and his feet back until he fell into the human and pushed them out of existence.

He just…tripped, and ripped someone out of reality. It was just…that easy. That clumsy. That accidental. Frisk hasn’t been forgotten, hasn’t been erased, but they’re gone. They’re just as gone.

Maybe he just wants to believe he tripped. Maybe he wants there to be a reason, something he can point to and say, ‘This isn’t my fault.’ Maybe he did this, somehow—he must have done this, right? He literally pushed them. There’s no other common link between the machine and Frisk. He did this. It was an accident. It was him.

Sans doesn’t know what to think, but he just can’t stop it from running through his head. It felt so much like someone else was there, someone he followed instinctively, or some course that he was following just an instant behind. But that’s just too convenient, right? He can’t just…pretend someone else did this.

It just doesn’t make sense…

A glass appears in front of him, on the table. Papyrus pulls Sans’s hands so he’s not staring at them anymore, and wraps them firmly around the glass. It’s milk.

Sans holds onto it, but can’t bring himself to look at his brother.

The first few minutes after the nightmare are always the hardest.

“sans,” Papyrus says.

He can’t think of anything to say. He wants to say everything’s okay, but…he killed an innocent person. Worse than killed. He pushed them into that damned machine that has only ever brought him grief. Whatever their crimes in a past timeline, they were trying so hard to be _better_. They didn’t deserve this.

What can he say to his brother? That he’s sorry? That he didn’t mean to? That he _accidentally_ opened a hole in the fabric of reality and just so happened to push a terrified child through it?

“sans.” Papyrus says it again.

Sans’s bones rattle.

“Papy…”

He releases the glass with one hand to grab blindly at Papyrus’s wrist. At least he still has his brother. Papy is here. He’s right here, just like always. Waiting for Sans to say the right thing to make the worry dissolve away from his face.

This time, Sans might be out of ideas.

What can he say? There’s nothing. There’s nothing he can do. Gaster vanished into that damned machine and Frisk vanished into a hole in reality and Sans knows he saw it, he _knows_ it was the same machine, somehow, that lies smashed to pieces in their basement, whole and stealing from him all over again, taking his whole world except for Papyrus away.

The person he looked up to and admired most and the child who was just beginning to trust him, both gone in an instant, and it’s _Sans’s fault_ somehow. It must be. He’s the only link between the two, him and that damned hunk of metal and despair. He should have destroyed it _better_ , he should have made _sure_ it would never steal another precious life—

Sans’s glass shatters.

There’s warm milk everywhere.

“…okay,” says Papyrus. “or don’t talk. that’s…fine.”

His voice is strained. Papy has been taking this hard—he hates having half the pieces, not knowing what to do or what to say. And he’s grieving, too. Sans wants to help him…

Papyrus walks to the other side of the kitchen and picks up the roll of paper towels on the counter. Surface conveniences are something Papyrus has taken to easily. Sans hasn’t taken to much of anything—he’d been so excited to try _everything_ , but now it seems macabre. Did Frisk use paper towels? They must have. Every human does. Gaster would have loved the idea of towels that you can just throw away after using them. He was always spilling coffee. Sans was always cleaning it up.

Papyrus starts putting down fistfuls of paper towel, bringing the broken glass into a pile.

Sans needs to snap out of this soon. He needs to. It only took him a week after Gaster’s disappearance to force down the choking, awful feelings of guilt and desolation; to start smiling again. He needs to do that again. He needs to be strong for Papyrus, and for his friends. Everyone else is grieving, too.

He tries on a smile. It doesn’t sit right. His eyes tingle warningly.

Still sweeping up glass with his hands, Papyrus says, “just, just tell me one thing, sans. are you ever gonna tell me what really happened? or am i gonna have to figure it out myself?”

He doesn’t hesitate in his cleaning while Sans’s world stops for a moment.

 _No. No, no, never_. The image of Papyrus in Gaster’s place, fiddling with the machine and insisting that he’s _almost got it, Sans_ , vanishing in a blink—it’s a familiar nightmare that he’s had a thousand times before.

But before, he’s always been able to tell himself it’s fine. The machine is broken, he smashed half the monitors and cut the main line and it’s been rusting in the basement ever since, and Papy isn’t into that kind of sciency stuff anyway (because Sans panicked the one time he brought it up, resulting in one of their rare serious arguments, voices raised and harsh words spoken, and Papyrus dropped it for good after that). But now…

Now, the machine is taking from him again, even though he broke it. Now, after years of inaction, it’s a part of his life again—unpredictably, with nothing to tell him how or why it’s returned. Now, he might actually lose Papyrus.

Last time, he was the only one who didn’t investigate the disappearances, because everyone knew he wasn’t good enough at that stuff to help—and he’s the only one who didn’t disappear. Frisk has disappeared, though. Did Sans just push off his own vanishing onto somebody else? Is it something to do with DETERMINATION? By not trying to figure out what happened to Gaster and the others, did he miss something important that could have prevented this?

He’s already lost Frisk. He can’t let Papyrus disappear, too. All he can think to do is the same thing that kept him safe last time—pretend as hard as he can that nothing happened and nothing is wrong.

If Papyrus investigates by himself, without even knowing as much as Sans does about the machine…

“No,” Sans says. Begs. “Papy—don’t. We can’t bring them back. We just have to let it go.”

Papyrus snorts. “yeah. i’ll do that. sure. i’ll just ‘let it go’ that i covered for you _killing someone_.”

Sans’s fingers dig into the table, leaving phalange-shaped scrapes in the finish.

“I didn’t—” he tries to defend himself. He blinks rapidly—Papy doesn’t really mean that. He can’t.

“no, i—fuck, i’m sorry,” says Papyrus. “i—i know you didn’t kill them. i know.”

What went so wrong in Sans’s life that his brother has to decide whether or not to believe that he killed somebody? Two weeks ago, he was so happy. He hadn’t thought about the machine in years. How has he even gotten here?

Papyrus shifts in place, uncomfortable with the confrontation but more uncomfortable with leaving it alone.

He tries again, softer this time. “i know you didn’t mean to do whatever it was. that’s, i mean, that’s obvious.” Thank goodness. “but, sans…i need to know what happened. you understand that, right? you can’t just pretend this didn’t happen until it goes away. i’m a part of this, too, now. i think i…deserve to know the truth.”

Papyrus looks pleadingly at him, and Sans’s will crumples.

He has a point. If it were just the machine, that would be one thing, but Papyrus is a part of this too, now—especially if it happens again.

After Frisk fell out of the world, Papyrus was the one to recover. He’s always been good at thinking three steps ahead, in directions Sans hasn’t even considered. Especially when it comes to what other people might think, and what sorts of things might make other people think badly of him. This time, his worrying was…more warranted than Sans likes to think about.

Before the portal closed behind Frisk, before he even registered what was happening, Sans felt a tug of subtle blue magic steal his glove off of him. The instant it closed, Papyrus yanked him backwards with his bandanna, staggering backwards like it took enormous effort.

Sans didn’t understand, at first, as his brother started talking with wild eyes about the gravity of the portal and how he was so glad he was able to pull Sans out of it. The portal didn’t have any gravity. It was just a hole. Frisk fell in because Sans fell into them. Because he pushed them.

But Papyrus kept talking, giving him a significant, panicked look as he explained about how the portal had an incredibly strong gravitational pull that caught both Frisk and Sans in its grasp, and how Sans tried to save Frisk with blue magic—which he did—and nearly fell in himself—which he didn’t. Sans still didn’t understand it at that point, until Queen Toriel asked him if that was true.

He hadn’t even considered that he could be suspected of killing Frisk. Why would it? He worked so hard to convince them that he really wouldn’t hurt them, and if even Frisk believed they were safe with him, then there’s no way he would want to hurt them, right?

What Sans hadn’t thought of, and Papyrus had, is that Sans is one of the only monsters who was officially involved in interdimensional experimental physics. Most of the discoveries and inventions he’s credited with weren’t his, but when their original creators ceased to exist, people remembered the only person who survived. He doesn’t want to believe that anyone would think he did this to Frisk intentionally, but…he’s one of the only people who should, on paper, be able to open a portal like that.

And besides that, he literally pushed them into it in front of everybody. What are the chances of him just happening to stumble at exactly the wrong time and pushing Frisk accidentally into a portal only he can supposedly make?

In truth, he couldn’t make a portal like that even if he tried—he was never a very good scientist. He just doesn’t understand that stuff like Gaster did. All he did was clean up coffee and flip switches.

But Queen Toriel doesn’t believe that, and Papyrus’s quick thinking saved him from a lot of questions he can’t answer. Right now, Undyne is looking into randomly-occurring wormholes and the likelihood of humans knowing how to make them. Everyone hopes to find Frisk at the other end of some strange human form of transportation that nobody has told them about.

Everyone but Sans, and Papyrus.

…Papyrus does deserve answers about what happened there. It’s just that Sans doesn’t have any to give him. He doesn’t know. And the thought of his brother even looking at that _damned machine_ fills him with a rush of denial so strong he has to sit down for a moment.

But he just doesn’t know what to do.

“…I know,” he says, finally. “I know you do. I’m sorry. I’m _sorry_.”

He hides his face in his hands—one glove on, one glove gone.

“so you’ll tell me?” Papyrus presses. This must be hard for him. He hates asking people to do things they don’t want to. He doesn’t even like disagreeing with people. But he knows Sans well enough to push for a promise, or Sans will find a way out of telling him.

For all he tries not to be, Sans is a coward. He’d rather never face any of this ever again than risk losing Papyrus. Even if Papyrus hates him for it for the rest of their lives.

But he can’t escape the facts—Papyrus chose his side in an instant, protecting him on a level Sans hadn’t even considered. Before Sans had even realized other people were watching, or what it looked like from the outside, Papyrus lied for him. If Undyne looks into it and figures out what really happened, or if someone else disappears and people realize that Sans is the missing link, Papyrus will be considered just as guilty as Sans is.

And…Papyrus is a genius. No exaggeration, no brotherly pride there—Sans’s brother is the smartest person he’s ever met. He would have been great at all that sciency stuff. If he’d looked, maybe he would have been able to find what happened to all the others—now, he might be able to find what happened to Frisk. If Sans tells him what he knows. Sans just isn’t that kind of smart, but Papyrus may be able to actually help.

Gaster talked about DETERMINATION as if it were some unstoppable force—if Sans really thinks about it, Frisk could, maybe, possibly, be alive. They might have survived. He’s been trying not to think that way. If he doesn’t look into it, and he doesn’t tell anyone the truth about the machine being involved, he could be damning them to a slow death, alone and stranded somewhere until they starved because of him. It would be his fault twice over.

They were—they are a child. A hurt, scared child, who just started trusting him before he made them disappear. They gave him a hug. No matter what they might have done in another life, they reached out and called to him as they fell—the very first and last word he’d ever heard them say.

He doesn’t want them to be gone. He doesn’t know if it’s kind or cruel of him to wish that they’re somehow, somewhere, alive. Just…trapped somewhere far away from home. Lost and alone and feeling pretty betrayed, probably, but…somewhere where he can find them, and bring them back. Somehow, he can make this better.

Except that he can’t, because he doesn’t know how to.

It’s just too much. It’s all…it’s just too much for him to bear alone, this time. He needs help. He doesn’t know who to ask. There’s only one person he really could ask, who would believe him about everything, even that he really didn’t mean to hurt Frisk.

He scrubs his hands across his face and peeks out at his brother. Papy must have finished cleaning up the glass, because there’s only sloppily-cleared milk on the table and Papyrus himself is in the chair nearest Sans’s. He’s waiting, giving Sans time to work through it in his mind. Knowing him, he’s probably preparing an argument against anything Sans might say.

He’s not a child. Sans can’t protect him from everything.

By any star there ever was, he _wants_ to. He wants to insist that Frisk is dead and there are no answers to look for and Papyrus will never be involved. But the last thing he wants is to walk into the house one day and find Papyrus missing, never to be seen again, because he looked into it alone; to have to live with knowing he abandoned Frisk and abandoned Gaster and the others and he’s lost his brother to that damned thing, too, because Sans couldn’t bring himself to be honest with him.

If Sans can’t protect his loved ones by keeping them uninvolved, at least he can be by Papyrus’s side in this. He could help in any small way he can while his brother searches for answers. Clean up coffee spills. Is that atonement? If he helps Papyrus find Frisk, can he make up for whatever mistake he made that led to this?

He never even tried to save Gaster, because he knew he couldn’t. Gaster is more than gone. But people still remember Frisk. Maybe, _maybe_ they can be saved. Or, if nothing else, they can be put to rest. The thought of them floating endlessly in the abyss beyond reality’s edges makes him sick.

“You have to _promise_ to be careful,” Sans says, testing the idea out. Papyrus lights up, and Sans makes a quelling gesture with his hands. He needs to make sure Papy understands before anything else. “I’m serious. Please, Papy, you have to listen—very, very smart people have made…really terrible mistakes with this stuff. You have to promise you’ll be careful, and then be more careful than that. And then be more careful again. Do you promise?”

“yeah, sure, of course.” Papy seems astonished that Sans has agreed so easily—which he’s pretty sure he’s going to regret doing. But he’s so tired. He’s so tired of doing this alone.

He settles in his chair, fiddling with his bandanna.

“Promise,” he insists one more time.

Papyrus nods rapidly. “yes, i promise i’ll be careful. i just want to know what’s going on. frisk is my friend. i’m not gonna sit it out this time.”

Sans has long been terrified of the day when his brother refuses to just let go of his avoidance. Now that it’s here, though…maybe it’s just the sleep deprivation talking, but all he can feel is relief.

“Okay. It’s…you remember when I used to do stuff for the Royal Laboratory? Mostly errands?” He starts.

Papyrus blinks. Sans can’t blame him for being startled—he never speaks about that time, ever. It only makes him sad.

“yeah, sure,” Papyrus says. “the machine thing i saw—that was the same as the one you worked on, right? the one in our basement.”

Now it’s Sans’s turn to be startled. Papyrus remembered the machine this whole time? He only saw it once or twice. Sans is pretty sure it wasn’t even in the main lab. If he remembers right. It’s kind of blurry, even for him.

Papy is really sharp, though. If anyone can figure this out, it’s definitely the two of them. Because Sans is, Sans! And he can do this! And Papy is really smart, too!

Right. Time to stop moping around. They’re gonna get to the bottom of this!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case it's unclear: in reality, the mountain did not fall apart under anybody. Blue had an uncharacteristic moment of clumsiness, tripped, and accidentally pushed Frisk into the portal, which opened with precisely the right timing for them to fall in. Blue has nightmares where he pushes them less accidentally, but what really happened was a total accident on his end. He just has survivor's guilt;;
> 
> I promise this story has a happy ending...but I really, really couldn't see Blue just shrugging off having apparently killed someone. He's not from Underfell, and he's certainly not used to killing kids. Especially given how hard he had to work to gain Frisk's trust in the first place.
> 
> While all the angst is fun and good, I promise next chapter is less sad. :D you guys are gonna love it!
> 
> Also, I may make this into a series and write a companion fic that's through the eyes of the various Sans-and-Papyri, so keep an eye out for that!


	8. Calling My Reflection (i knocked, but no one was home)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They're familiar...but not too familiar...but not too not-familiar...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, Cat. I bet you thought I was kidding about including Frisktale...little did you know
> 
>  **Briefing:**  
>  Frisktale: Everything is exactly the same, except that every character is Frisk in a different outfit. They're still monsters, just...also Frisks. Imagine a few dozen Frisks cosplaying everyone in the Underground. Chara straight up doesn't exist in this universe, because they're also Frisk.
> 
> Also in this chapter, we've got some garbled text. It should be mostly understandable, but I put a transcript in the end notes if you're curious.

Once more, Frisk falls in pieces. Shy Sans and his world vanish without a trace, and Frisk is nowhere and surrounded by nothing except for the shards of their mind.

They think they might be getting the hang of this.

They sense what must be other worlds as they fall past them—places that exist and illuminate the nonexistence of the Fall with light and shadow and life. As one passes, they would swear they can hear a soft babble of voices, close enough to touch.

Which is strange, because hearing and touch don’t really exist for them right now. The thought bounces between shards of their mind, hitting one and then another like strangers in a crowd all turning to watch some bright spectacle, or an incorporeal game of telephone.

It occurs to one piece them to ‘look’ downward, to try to get a sense of what they’re falling towards next, but they’re not sure how they could do that. If they still have eyes, they can’t see out of them in this not-place. The concept of looking ahead all by itself is enough to stretch something out of place in the little piece of them that came up with it.

Still, that stretch, it’s something. It’s a sensation that comes all from Frisk. That’s good, right? They exist in this nonexistent world. They may Fall in pieces, but they still exist.

Despite everything, it’s still Frisk.

The part of Frisk that realizes this reaches determinedly out to the others. They can build themself back together, make themself whole even in this shattered state…and that’s when they slam straight into another patch of flowers.

Oh. Another world. They’re whole again, in a place that exists.

Come to think of it, it might not be a good idea to try to patch themself back together between worlds. There might be a reason they fall in pieces and join together again when they land. Frisk isn’t a scientist.

…Frisk’s hand hurts.

Frisk’s hand hurts a lot, actually.

They’ve landed on their back, and their right hand is a bright-hot grind of pain attached to their wrist. It won’t hold their weight when they try to use it to help them stand. They barely move it at all before agony convinces them to leave it alone.

 _Ow, ow, ow…_ This isn’t as bad as when Toriel has killed them before, but it definitely hurts worse than Undyne’s swift executions. And they can’t just die to fix it. They’ve checked—they can’t go back any farther than landing in a world. They’d just wake up ten seconds ago, in equal amounts of pain.

How did they even hurt their hand this bad…?

The memory floats itself through their mind—Shy Sans was spinning them out, his eyes widening as he realized they were about to fall back into the Long Fall, his left hand tightening painfully on their right before they were ripped away. Red Sans’s bone attack, as always, throbs and aches angrily, having just threaded them out of reality and then back in again.

 _I’m not very happy with you, either_ , they think to it. It doesn’t think back, because it’s a bone attack and maybe part of their SOUL, but it’s not a person.

Right. Their hand is probably broken in at least one place. Given the ugly coloring and the swelling, ‘crushed’ might be more accurate. But other than that they’re good to go; so Toriel or Asgore can probably heal them up and they’ll be alright.

No point dawdling, then—time to meet either Flowey or Temmie.

Flowey/Temmie’s room is the same as ever when they enter it, with a single illuminated patch of soil for him to rise out of. As soon as they approach, the ground crumbles a bit as something comes out.

Something…human-sized, and human-shaped. And kind of…familiar…?

Frisk’s own face looks back at them. This Frisk is wearing a flower costume and a deadpan expression. They’re looking pretty cute!

They hold up a sign. “Howdy!” it says.

They throw it away and hold up another. “Golly, did you fall all this way? You must be so confused.”

They throw that one away, too. The next one reads, “Well, don’t worry about a thing! I’ll show you how things work down here.”

They turn this one around, and on the back, it reads, “My name is Flowisk! Let’s get started!”

Oh, no.

* * *

Frisk practically sprints through The World Where Everyone Is Frisk. Nope, no, this world will not do. They barely hesitate long enough for Torisk to give them a notebook to write on—even after she heals their hand, it’s a little unwieldy to carry pre-prepared signs for every situation—before hurrying through the rest of the Underground.

Other Frisks will speak aloud sparingly, like Frisk themself used to, but Sfrisks, of course, has no trouble chatting with them and making terrible jokes. At least the conveniently Frisk-shaped lamp makes sense, here—Frisk inspects it after they unhide from behind it, and it also has their face on it. They could have just stood very still and been indistinguishable from it, except that they’re maybe an inch or two taller.

Sfrisks is also the only Sans (he…is Sans, right…?) that Frisk has been taller than. Papyrisk is definitely shorter than them, too—is this The World Where Everyone Is Frisk But Just A Little Bit Shorter?

These kind of questions are the kind that Frisk probably doesn’t want answered. Whenever questions like that occur to them, they move forward just a little faster, to outrun the unfathomable depths of _weird_ that this world brings up. They decide that they’re going to forget that this universe ever existed.

The conversation in the golden hall is…just awkward. Maybe not for Sfrisks, but for Frisk…can they even call themself Frisk, here? Is that okay, when it’s also everybody else’s name, and also everybody’s…species…???

When Frisk breaks the Barrier, it’s out of sheer necessity. They can’t stay here. They write a quick note to say goodbye to everyFrisk, run immediately to Sfrisks, and drag him onto the Surface first thing.

It’s not that the Frisks of this world aren’t friendly, but…weird. Just weird. Frisk is _not_ sticking around to see if every human is a Frisk, too. Would that be better or worse…?

Nope. They put Sfrisks’s hands on their shoulders themself and push him. Caught off guard, he staggers and then pushes back with playful irritation and the familiar fear grips them and they fall.

Still, they can’t prevent themself from calling, “Sans!”

_heh. better luck in the next one, human._

* * *

The next day, at 11:58 AM, Sans returns to the basement of his and Papy’s house in the Underground.

The basement is disconcertingly lab-like. Back then, Sans wasn’t sure if something in the former Royal Lab was causing the disappearances, so when he was the only one left he just deconstructed all that remained of the structure, down to the last tile.

Then, left with a lot of white tile and assorted lab sundries, he made a basement. There wasn’t really much else he could do with three quarters of a wall and some flooring and countertops—he couldn’t exactly hide this kind of dangerous stuff in the dump. Besides, with an empty basement, he had a place to put all of the other stuff he had left. It’s mostly scattered papers that Sans never sorted out, a couple of counters and drawers overflowing with notebooks and clipboards. Odds and ends that survived the disappearances are scattered—a couch, some desk decorations, endless schematics and notes.

It always feels a little like coming to work after hours, and a little like a museum.

Sans doesn’t come down here when he can help it, so the space is untouched. It feels a little weird even being here, surrounded by all of these things, without his old lab coat and maybe some safety goggles. He’s even more intensely aware of his missing glove. Who knows what kind of corrosion, or…or dangerous time-and-space-stuff could be down here? There’s already one obviously dangerous piece of equipment, which Sans hesitates to touch even though it’s never hurt him any before.

Looming over everything is the machine; the twisted hunk of metal and wiring that started all of this. It sits silent and foreboding in the corner, where shadows seem darker and light harsher. It’s little more than a shattered carcass of a thing, now, but…

Sans grips his bandanna and stares down the ruined machine. It stares back.

It has one surviving monitor, and another that might work, maybe. It’s hard to tell with all the broken connections and loose wires. Most of the buttons are smashed—a keyboard has escaped mostly unscathed, and three of the larger buttons survive with their labels worn off.

Sans completely destroyed the central apparatus after the disappearances, leaving nothing of the main display. The gateway that he could swear he saw Frisk disappear through has been twisted out of recognition for years, melted and dented into scrap.

There are fistfuls of wires hanging loose and out of place from where he tried tearing them out—those things are harder to break than they seem, so a lot of them survived. Sans doesn’t really remember a lot about destroying it in the first place—he was pretty upset at the time—but he’s certain he cut the most important parts, at least. There should be only harmless sensors left, and maybe some connection ports or data processing equipment. All observational parts. Nothing active, nothing that could tear a hole in reality.

That’s how he thought he left it.

Now, he has fifteen minutes to look at it before Papy is going to come down here. He needs to make sure it isn’t doing anything weird or dangerous before they start messing with it. Papy wouldn’t agree to wait very long, so he’s only upstairs right now, but he did agree to let Sans make sure it hasn’t spontaneously fixed itself, or anything. He’s not really sure what he would have done if it had, but…it makes him feel better to check. Papy might just be humoring him on that.

Well, he’s checked it. The machine is just as dead and silent as ever.

…maybe he should poke at it, just to make sure? Try to see what parts are totally broken, and which parts might still work? It should all be harmless…and they’ll probably need some of the sensors to work, if they’re going to figure out what happened to Frisk…the machine is literally built for tracking this kind of stuff. Sort of. Recording its own experimental data was an important thing for it to do, Sans is pretty sure.

“I’m not very happy with you,” Sans feels the need to tell the machine. “I wish you would be nice and stop disappearing people. Other machines don’t disappear people. Other machines stop working when people smash them, too. You should follow their example. Or, it would be nice if you worked but only to show us where Frisk is. I—”

The machine buzzes.

It’s never done that before.

The confusing tangle of frayed wires sparks and hums, making a crackling noise and sending out a weak spray of sparkles. Sans can hear a little motor whirring and snapping as it gets stuck, coming back alive after years and damage.

What is…?

“…Frisk?” Sans calls. It’s the only thing he can think of—could they be stuck in the machine, somehow? He wishes he’d reread Gaster’s notes. He wishes he’d understood them in the first place. Is this supposed to happen? It’s not, right? “Human?”

An unseen speaker crackles atrociously, barely forming tinny words.

“—a **gain, c-c-c-cal** ling—nother try. FU **CK.** IS **A** NYone **there**? anyONe—” The monitor flickers to life, filling with wavering static. Sans backs away from it—thinking better of it, he shortcuts clear to the opposite side of the basement.

“Hello?” he calls. “Hello? Is someone there? Frisk?”

The voice is all wrong, he’s pretty sure—he only actually heard Frisk speak once, but this is too low, too gruff. Not like Gaster’s, either…does he remember the names of everybody else? He’s pretty sure he does…would he recognize them, if he saw them now?

The monitor is showing snow, mostly, with a dim, flickering figure(?) appearing. The speakers blare static for a moment, then a garble of voices, and then, stuttering over the screen—

“hellO? st **upid** —ugh, if th **ere’s anYO** ne on thAT-At-at **e-end, can y** ou **cali** braTE WI **TH me?** I’M SENding OV **ER my-my—** ” The sound skips and shudders.

Is someone there? Is someone caught in the machine, or on the other end somehow? Is there another end? That implies another machine, somewhere. Are they trying to reach Sans?

The figure on the monitor is replaced with numbers that scroll through the screen rapidly, pinging in different colors. It’s more information all at once than Sans would be able to use on his best day. With his lack of sleep lately, they all run together and blur.

“I can’t hear you, whoever you are. The machine is broken,” he tries. Communication is the first step, right? Should he get Papy? “I can’t—I don’t know how to fix this. Are you stuck? Can I help you?”

There are more wires sparking in the bone-sized holes on the machine’s casing.

Sans glances nervously at the remaining keypad. It has most of the numbers intact. Should he try to copy down the numbers on the screen? Is it like a puzzle?

“—E _N **ter**_ **in** **th** e—STI _CK_ **—I** T iT **~~WIth~~** ~~a **—**~~ ” The audio is getting worse. Does that mean he’s losing them? Sans frantically scurries back to the machine, disregarding sparks as he starts poking at what used to be a number pad.

Looking closer, the 9 key is unsalvageable. The others look okay—the 8 is a little melty and the 6 is worn down, but he can probably still use them.

Sans blinks hard and shakes his head, trying to focus all of his attention on the screen. He can keep up, he’s sure, if he just…!

The numbers keep scrolling past as he punches in everything he sees, nearly faster than he can track. Whoever that is on the other end, they’re lucky they got to Sans, with his excellent memory and swift reactions! Even as tired as he is, he’s definitely getting the numbers mostly right, except for the 9s, of course. On a hunch, he puts in 8s for those. Is ‘close’ good enough?

“di-di **al** —spi-i **n** the **di-i-DI** AL—SPIN **the** —”

“Okay,” Sans says, in case the other person can hear him better than he can hear them. “I tried entering the numbers, but I couldn’t get all of them. Which dial do you need me to spin?”

“—PIN the **dial—spin** —r leFT—IT’s **to YOUR** LEF— **spIN the** -the—”

The voice on the other end is louder, and slower, but Sans can’t be sure whether that’s the audio warping or the person slowing down. Either way, quick as a thought, he reaches left. The knob cover was a victim to his attack years ago, but the dial itself is there. Sans’s bare phalanges can’t get a grip, so he wraps it with his bandanna.

“Which way?” he asks loudly. Just in case, he repeats, “Which way? Which direction should I turn it?”

“ **how** the hELL—O-O-OW?—sh **ould** i—sh **ould** i knO-OW? it’s **nO-nO** t my- **my-my—** chine.” The voice growls.

“You’re not being very helpful, voice!” Sans tries twisting the knob all the way to the left, watching the monitor for any change. The numbers vanish into static, and the voice is lost in a deafening buzz. “Ah! Sorry!”

He tries twisting it back to the right, and the shadowy figure appears again, slightly sharper.

“— **Ay, that** way, STOP!”

Sans freezes precisely where he is.

The audio sounds much clearer when it returns, with only a couple of stutters and skips. The worst of the distortion seems to be gone, leaving a deep, rough voice, rich with irritation.

“ok. n-n- **now** **re** ad me the numb **ers** —n the third screen to…uh, fuck.” The figure shifts. They look like they’re vaguely humanoid, but it’s hard to tell. The video isn’t as clear as the sound.

Sans looks at the destroyed monitors. It kind of sounds like the other person already knows, but…

“Um. Let’s pretend I only have one screen. What do I do next?” he asks.

The figure says several staticky words not fit for polite company; words about Sans, words about the machine, words about things Sans may have done to the machine, and words about undefined third parties. Many of them are four-letter words, but the person on the screen is surprisingly creative, so some of them are words Sans has never heard before. A few of them might have been invented specifically for this situation.

Sans considers being offended, but he’d probably be pretty upset if he were stuck in a machine for who knows how long, too. He should probably give this person some leeway.

“Do you want to tell me how to help you now and you can swear at me later?” he asks, just to be polite. “I kind of. Destroyed. The machine. Mostly. Well, I thought I did, and then there was this whole thing, and now you’re here, so…”

“—eah, i can see that. ugh. guess we don-n’T N-N-EED YOurs to work worth a damn, just…here, aaand…fuckin’ p **iece o** f— **iece of ju** nk, the hell did you do to this thing…” The shadowy figure on the monitor begins moving around the screen, and the beeps and sparks coming off the machine shut down, one by one. Sans hovers nervously over it, not sure whether to try to help or to back away from the danger zone.

“heh. gotcha.” The figure resolves into sharp regularity.

Sans blinks.

Standing in the screen, there’s another skeleton.

On the screen, he looks like he’s standing in the basement, same as Sans is, surrounded by the same panels Sans destroyed years ago. Nothing about the machine pictured is harmed, though. There are some added parts that Sans doesn’t recognize, but what he can see of it is just like he remembers it. He’s at the wrong angle to see most of it, though, so he can’t say for sure…

The skeleton on the other end eerily mirrors Sans, too. Like Sans, this skeleton is also short, has a broad, dimpled grin, and has round eye sockets; something about his face is familiar, but…odd. Sans almost expects the other skeleton to mirror him when he moves.

For everything that’s the same, though, just as much is strange.

The new skeleton seems broader—maybe that’s just the jacket he’s wearing. It’s a black, bulky hoodie with zipper teeth that look like they’re eating him, and it looks heavy. This skeleton has viciously pointed teeth to match his coat, one of them golden. His eyes—well, his visible left eye—is red, looking a little like Sans’s own when he gets ready to use an attack. It doesn’t flash with magical fire, so at least he isn’t actually attacking? Or maybe that’s just what his eye is supposed to look like?

The deep bags under his eye sockets mirror Sans’s now, but a month ago they would have looked very different. Mostly different. There are differences.

Most importantly, this new skeleton’s LOVE is…very high. That’s probably why he looks so…pointy. And scowl-y. And kind of like a grouch, honestly. His triumphant smirk is rapidly morphing into a hard frown as he takes Sans in.

…does Sans have any cousins he didn’t know about? Maybe some particularly estranged, distant family?

“Um, hello?” Sans tries, because introducing himself is always polite. “I’m Sans! Sans the—”

“yeah, shut up, i know who you are,” the other skeleton says. “look. thanks for patchin’ up the connection and all, but i don’t wanna deal with you any more than i have to. you’re gonna answer some questions for me and i’ll be on my way, got it? i’m not here to get all buddy-buddy with a pathetic creampuff like you.”

He seems tense. He’s sweating a lot, fiddling with buttons on his end of the screen.

Sans doesn’t allow himself to frown. This guy seems like he’s gonna be a tough nut to crack…but Sans has cracked tougher! This is his first lead! He’s gonna get this guy to be his friend, and then he’s gonna get answers. He’s barely started looking for Frisk and he’s already making great progress!

If he’s gonna learn anything really important, though, he should probably get Papy. It’s best to have everyone on the same page.

“Oh! By the way, do you mind if I go get my brother?” he asks the other skeleton. “I promised him I’d let him help out with all this, so—”

“no need,” says Papy. Sans jumps and whirls around, missing the stranger’s reaction to Papyrus’s sudden entrance.

Papyrus is slouched near the back wall of the lab, halfway behind the couch.

“Papy! I told you to wait!” Sans scolds. Only politeness keeps him from abandoning the machine to go check on his brother. Why is he here early? Did something happen?

“heard you yelling. figured there might be a problem. who’s your friend?” Papyrus slumps his way across the lab, cocking his head towards the screen. Sans turns back to his new friend.

“He was just about to introduce himself! Weren’t you?” he asks with a winning smile.

“the hell i was,” the stranger mutters. “look, i just need to know if you’ve seen a human come through. woulda been…fuck.” He leans to the side of the screen and shuffles with something Sans can’t see. “four, five months ago? if my math’s right. could be a year ago, could be yesterday, time is fucked anyway. have you seen any humans?”

Frisk!

…wait.

Frisk.

…Frisk, who’s…

Papy’s hand appears on Sans’s wrist, stopping him if he were planning on saying anything. He exchanges a glance with his brother and sees Papy’s caution in the stress lines about his face. Papy is grinding his jaw again.

Sans turns to the screen, cheerful and polite. Papyrus is standing halfway behind him, watching. Looming, one might say, if one didn’t know that Papyrus is cripplingly shy with strangers and usually wants Sans to do all the talking anyway.

“I think you should introduce yourself first. We can tell you more once we’re friends, right? I can’t just talk to strangers I met through cryptic machine video chats! I have to at least know your name,” Sans insists.

The other skeleton sneers. “you don’t need to know who i am.”

“I disagree!” disagrees Sans.

He keeps a friendly smile on his face and his hand grips Papy’s wrist back, hidden behind his body—Papyrus can squeeze and stop him if he doesn’t think Sans should say something, and Sans can squeeze back if he needs Papy’s attention for something.

When they work together, Sans and Papyrus’s many strengths only amplify each other to untold measures of greatness! They make a fantastic team.

The skeleton on the screen gives them both a measuring look before he rolls his eye, continuing to scowl. Maybe he’s jealous.

“waste of time. fine,” he growls. “i’m sans. sans the skeleton.”

Well, that doesn’t make a lot of sense. Sans thinks hard about how to say so politely, but… “That doesn’t make sense. I’m Sans! Who are you?”

The…other Sans? looks irritated. That might just be his face, though. “look. i’m not gonna teach you multiversal physics, but. imagine there’s two worlds, ok? one is your soul-rotting candyland, and the other is actual hell. i’m the hell version of you. i also live in snowdin, i’m also a sentry under my brother, who’s also a member of the royal guard, just think of me as the you that doesn’t suck.”

Papy frowns and glances at Sans, like _are you okay with him talking like that?_ or _is that even possible?_ and maybe also _but i’m not a member of the royal guard???_

Sans shrugs and turns his attention to the monitor. “So, like an alternate dimension?”

Personally, Sans’s first theory would have been ‘time travel from a dark and edgy future,’ especially given that his other self is looking for Frisk at the approximate right time to find them, but he knows that parallel universes are things that exist.

He’d always thought the idea was kind of cool, that there are infinite other versions of him and everyone he knows running around and doing every possible thing. Meeting another him…that’s pretty neat, actually!

Other Sans bobs his head noncommittally. “sure. and since i’m you, you know you can trust me, right? i’m just lookin’ for some info. help me out here.”

Sans trusts this other version of himself wholeheartedly! Or…he trusts this other him…most-heartedly. He does trust himself! But what if this is his evil twin? Other Sans is just like Sans, only with darker and pointier clothes. That seems kind of evil-twin-like.

Not only that, but…it’s kind of weird how Other Sans knows Frisk, or knows of them. It makes Sans wonder whether Frisk knows his counterpart, and what they would have to say about him, if Sans could ask them.

“so, i’m looking for a human. yea high, uh, kinda scraggly-looking, still in stripes. you seen one?” Sans’s potential evil twin gestures at Frisk’s approximate height.

Sans can feel Papyrus glance at him. Papy’s sharp enough to be picking up on some of Sans’s discomfort, even if he can’t see Other Sans’s high LV. Or maybe he’s just nervous on his own. Sans squeezes his wrist.

“Hmm. A human child? Did you lose one?” Sans asks, tapping his chin thoughtfully with his gloved right hand. He taps thirteen times, which takes kind of an awkwardly long time.

“none’a your business.” Other Sans’s face is like stone. Really angry stone.

“Humans are really important, though,” Sans says, fishing. “I mean, with the Barrier and all…”

A flicker darts across Other Sans’s face when the Barrier is mentioned. It’s too fast for Sans to catch exactly what it is, but there was something there…

“…it seems like the kind of thing I shouldn’t just tell people about, even if you are me. Right? If you’re me, you should know that I can’t just blab on important stuff for no reason. Alphys would be so mad at me!” Sans finishes.

Other Sans looks away for a moment, apparently thinking. His scowl relaxes somewhat, from murderous frustration to deep brooding.

Papy is doing his level best to blend in with the background and let Sans talk, but Sans can feel his close attention. There’s no official reason not to tell Other Sans about Frisk, and Sans and Papyrus both know that. But…

Sans doesn’t like to be suspicious of people, so of course he’s going to give Other Sans a chance! But also, he just wants to see what this alternate Sans will say to convince him. What does he think is a good argument? What’s important to him?

It’s the perfect test. If Other Sans is trustworthy, he’ll have a good reason already for why he needs to know about Frisk and he can convince Sans, and it’ll all be fine. But if he’s up to something, he’s bound to trip up on one part of his argument or another. Papy always does when he’s trying to sneak something by Sans, and the best way to poke holes in what he’s saying is always to ask. Papy hates it when he does that.

It’s not that Sans doesn’t want to trust his alternate-universe self to have good intentions at heart—they’re both Sans, after all. It’s just…he doesn’t know exactly what happened when Frisk disappeared. He doesn’t know why another version of him has come calling for them. He doesn’t want to make things worse by accident.

Sans is not a particularly cautious monster by nature—Papyrus has always been anxious enough for both of them—but…a little caution never hurt anybody, he reasons.

A tense moment passes before Other Sans seems to make up his mind. Other Sans sighs, and slumps. His face softens further, and beyond his vicious teeth and warning-red eye, he looks tired—strained.

He looks like a monster who’s had a really long week. Sans can relate.

“look, it’s not like all that, alright? i’m not lookin’ for them just ‘cause they’re human,” Other Sans says. “i’m not tryin’ to take their soul, kill ‘em so i can get to the surface, whatever. me walkin’ over their corpse and into the sunlight…trust me, it doesn’t exactly appeal. i’m you, right? you wouldn’t hurt a kid. neither would i.”

So ‘he’ can get to the Surface…not ‘us’ or ‘monsters.’

Other Sans looks into Sans’s eyes through the monitor, a hint of vulnerability shining through in his appeal. His hands spread out in front of him and his single eyelight turns to two as he disarms his magic. He leans forward slightly on the screen.

“i’m just looking out for them. no hidden secrets, no ulterior motives. i just wanna know if you’ve seen ‘em pass through. the truth is, they…” Other Sans breaks eye contact for a moment. His shoulders hunch and his phalanges twitch guiltily before he tucks them away in his pockets, ashamed.

“well, they’re missing,” he confesses. “one day, they walked out the door in the morning just like always, y’know? they weren’t goin’ far. but they just…never came back. no one’ll fess up to knowing anything, either.”

Other Sans’s head ducks. Sans can’t quite see his expression, but his grief is plain. “it’s like i blinked and just, poof. no kid. so, i figured…i know it’s a long shot, but i’ve been lookin’ for ‘em everywhere, and i thought, hey, there’s the other universe, maybe they mighta shown up here…?”

He looks hopefully to Sans.

Sans hesitates. Other Sans picks up on it immediately, his eyes widening a little more and his tone taking on a more persuasive edge as he faces the screen fully.

“me and my bro, they’re really like family to us. we’ve been goin’ crazy since they went missing—no one’s seen anything. it’s like they just vanished. if you haven’t seen them, i don’t know where else to look,” Other Sans admits. “i just wanna see them home safe. you’d do the same for your brother, right? if he went missing?”

Other Sans’s voice stays soft and genuine as he coaxes, “i’m not asking for much. just need you to tell me if you saw ‘em so i can track ‘em down. they’re just a kid. they’re lost and alone in a strange place. for all i know, they’re hurt, or worse…you have to help me, sans. i don’t care about the surface or their soul or any of it—i’d never hurt them. they trust me. i just want what’s best for them, and right now what’s best for them is if you tell me what you know. i just wanna bring them home safe. we’ve been so worried.”

He looks like he’s prepared to go on, but Sans has heard all he needs to hear.

“That’s a really touching story,” he says. Papyrus gives him a complicated glance, trying to portray warning and alarm all at once, but Sans already knows. “It was really well done! It’s exactly what I want to hear, isn’t it? So I would definitely want to help you. Is that because you’re me, or was that all a really good cold read?”

Other Sans blinks, recoiling in confusion. “uh, what?”

“The lie you just told us,” Sans says. “It’s really heartwarming. I think your delivery was great! Papy thinks so, too. You have a real talent.”

“it’s—i wasn’t lying?” Other Sans says, hesitant. He’s watching Sans’s reaction.

Sans is sure, though. He believes that Other Sans knows Frisk, probably, but not how he wants Sans to believe he does. This explains so much.

Other Sans is being kind of rude, though, playing like he’s telling the truth even after Sans has called him out. Sans decides to lay it out clearly for him.

“If you weren’t lying, you wouldn’t have made a point to say that Frisk trusts you. They don’t.”

Other Sans twitches. Sans feels a muted rush of something that he doesn’t feel often—something like anger. Something righteous.

One thing he knows with certainty: there has been an injustice here, and he is _going_ to address it. Letting a lie fester is no way to heal; it’s not good for Sans and Papyrus or Frisk or Other Sans.

Sans isn’t really hurt that Other Sans lied to him, but he is going to need the truth.

“Frisk was terrified of me when we met. It took weeks for them to trust me at all. If you’re telling the truth that they knew you before me, then they definitely don’t think you’d never hurt them,” Sans says.

Frisk’s fear of him was always something weird, something that didn’t make a lot of sense. He’d assumed it was because of something he couldn’t remember that happened in a past timeline, but this makes more sense—Frisk must have really met this other version of Sans, and _he_ was the one they were really afraid of all along! So many things are clicking into place. They adored Papyrus as soon as they met him, because Papyrus is wonderful, but maybe also because they met another version of him, too! And they knew their way through the Underground, not because they’re a time traveler, but because they’d _already been_ to another version of it!

…wait, are they a time traveler, then, or not?

That’s probably not important right now.

“You also said there were only two universes, ours and yours, right?” Sans continues, since Other Sans is just watching him, his eye sockets rounded in hurt bewilderment. “So when you didn’t find them in your universe, you called us, because here is the only other place they could be—but that’s not true. There’s all sorts of universes. So there’s no way you accidentally found ours and just happened to contact us exactly when we’re near the machine and can pick up, unless you _already knew_ which universe to call. I’m right, aren’t I? You called our machine until you got a response, because you already knew Frisk was here.”

Sans leaves out his hunch that Other Sans might have a way of spying—he seemed to know that Sans’s machine was broken before Sans told him so, and he called two weeks after Frisk disappeared from this world, but several months after Frisk must have left Other Sans’s world.

“I don’t believe that you’re Frisk’s friend, and I don’t believe that you didn’t know they were here. That means ‘Frisk disappeared and I’ve been looking everywhere’ doesn’t make sense—and that’s not even everything you said that doesn’t add up. Could you tell us the real truth instead?” Sans asks.

Other Sans stares for a second, dumbfounded and hurt, before the naked shock vanishes like it never was. Instead, an amused smirk spreads into a grin over his face. One eye extinguishes as the other reignites.

“pff—heh-heh-heh—hahahahaha!” Other Sans bends over himself laughing, slapping his knee and nearly hitting the floor.

When he stands up again, there’s something sharp and cold in his gaze that wasn’t there before. It makes Sans kind of sad. “oh, man, i was _not_ expecting that. guess you’re not as stupid as you act. did he get that on his own, or did you tell him?”

This he directs towards Papy, who shakes his head, eyes narrowed.

“heh-heh. oh, that was a good one,” Evil Sans says, pretending to wipe a tear from his socket. “ok. ok, that was…heh, i’d better try something a little more believable next time, huh? damn. blueberry-me caught me out. losin’ my fuckin’ edge, i can’t fuckin’ believe it.”

Taking a deep breath, he calms himself from his show of hilarity. Papy is watching intently, probably figuring out his tells. Papyrus is so smart.

“right. i guess you want the whole story, huh?” Evil Sans asks.

“That would be nice,” Sans says.

“ok. alright. for real this time,” Evil Sans tilts his head a little. “one of you can see my lv, right? higher than anything in your world, i bet. heh, that probably didn’t help me sell the ‘innocent’ schtick.”

His LV isn’t higher than Queen Toriel’s, but Sans doesn’t say so. Evil Sans continues.

“well, my lv’s actually pretty low for my world. i wasn’t kidding about my world’s underground being hell—down here, it’s kill or be killed. there’s a law about it and everything.” Evil Sans shrugs. “been that way forever. so, the kid i’m looking for—they did come from this world, originally. it’s a pretty dangerous world. not great for a kid with more ‘love’ than ‘LOVE,’ y’know? they got into trouble a lot.”

That seems like it might be true, so far. At least, he’s not contradicting anything Sans has already guessed about where Frisk is from—he’d thought it was the Surface or the future or both, but it seems like he was right about them coming from a place where people hurt each other.

“i wasn’t lying about them being family to us, either,” Evil Sans says. “dunno what they did to him, but my bro decided he didn’t wanna kill ‘em one day, and they’ve lived with us ever since. s’like havin’ a weird pet, except it’s a little more exciting, ‘cause all our neighbors wanna kill them and steal their soul.”

That seems like a strange way to think about a child.

“well, problem is, all our neighbors wanted to kill them and steal their soul. human soul, kill or be killed, all that. i guess…” Other Sans stops for a moment, his flippant attitude faltering. His single red eye contracts in shame. “i guess i wasn’t paying as much attention as i thought i was. i got careless, left ‘em alone for a minute. someone got a lucky shot.”

He hunches his shoulders, glancing at Sans with a grimace. He _seems_ genuine…

“in a world like mine, you gotta protect the people you care about, if you want them to survive. but i didn’t.” He closes his eyes. “i didn’t get there in time. dunno about you, but i’m shit at healing, so…too little, too late.”

Other Sans shifts. He opens his eyes again, looking into middle distance. “by the time i got there, they were already dying. i just thought…heh, i dunno what i was thinkin’. just didn’t seem right. they were a sweet kid, you know? they didn’t deserve to die in hell with one sorry excuse for a monster to witness it.”

He meets Sans’s eyes beseechingly through the monitor.

“i know you ain’t much for science, but, uh. i used to do that kind of multiverse research stuff. still tinker a bit, just as a hobby. i have kind of a catalogue of worlds built up just for shits. so when i saw they weren’t gonna get better this time, i just, uh…i took a chance.” Other Sans shrugs.

“i won’t get into the science, but…i thought there was a chance that if i sent ‘em far enough away, they might live. alternate universe stuff, ‘s complicated. well, i sent them to the most peaceful world i could find—that’s yours. everyone’s a creampuff over there. even if it didn’t work, ’s a better place to die, i guess. i dunno, it was the heat of the moment,” Other Sans confesses. “i healed ‘em up all i could and sent them over. couldn’t get ‘em past the barrier, but i could give ‘em a better life. longer, at least.”

There’s a momentary pause as Other Sans reflects. Then he crosses his arms and regains some of his aggressive demeanor, scowling at Sans and Papyrus.

“so, there. that’s the story. kid was dying, i sent ‘em to a better place. better luck next time, and all.”

He narrows his eye sockets and laces his fingers in front of him. “i know they’re in your universe, ‘cause yours is the one i sent them to. there’s this funny thing, though—i tried to checked in about a week ago, see how they’re likin’ their sweet new digs, and whaddaya know? i can’t seem to find them anywhere. isn’t that _hilarious_?”

Other Sans’s grin is tight. “now, you can see why i’d be a bit, uh, _pissed_ when i see the underground go empty in your world, huh?”

His mouth twists into a snarl, all traces of good humor gone. Instead, he looks irate. It occurs to Sans that Other Sans’s teeth are very sharp, and his LV is very high.

“thought it was the end of the world at first, but then i realized, no dust. how would the underground empty out with no dust?” Other Sans accuses. Magical fire begins to flicker near his left eye—he’s not summoning an attack yet, but he’s more than ready to. “had to be the barrier. you got a seventh soul. i called you up ‘cause i wanna know whose it was.”

That…sounds a lot more believable, actually. This might be the truth.

If it is, that’s really sad for Frisk. And for Other Sans. He must be so scared right now. To lose contact with Frisk after already being forced to send them away…what a horrible thing to happen to both of them.

Sans isn’t sure whether the science works out, or how Frisk would survive traveling between dimensions if they were already so close to death that healing items couldn’t save them, but this story explains why Frisk already seemed to know Sans, but didn’t really _know_ him. It makes more sense than what Sans thought at first, which is that they must have done something so bad that he’d been forced to fight them in a past life.

They must have been really confused by that conversation…Sans feels kinda bad about that.

One more thing to apologize for when he sees them again. Which he’s going to! He’s already much closer now than he was an hour ago!

There’s just one more troubling contradiction…

“But when I met the human, they were still really afraid of me,” Sans says slowly. “Especially at first. They seemed to think I was gonna hurt them.”

Other Sans looks down and to the left. “well, like i said. kill or be killed. my bro and i wanted them to survive, so we taught ‘em to dodge first and think second.”

He’s sweating a lot. The flames near his eye have died down, leaving a single red eyelight.

“Yeah, but they were really scared of _me_ ,” Sans insists. “They only got less scared when they spent time with me and got to know me. They were expecting me to be…not a very nice person.”

In fact, even after knowing him for months, they’d still refused to be near Sans if he was missing his gloves or his bandanna. The one time they visited late enough at night that he was in his pajamas—a fluffy hoodie and sweatpants—they’d gotten an odd grimace on their face and fled immediately, only coming back days later when Papy coaxed them in. Sans had never figured out what scared them that night, but now he wonders if he looked a little too much like Other Sans without his usual accessories.

They’d always grip his bandanna or hide in it, too, whenever they had flashbacks and Papy wasn’t around to hide behind. If Sans was anywhere near them, they were only reassured by seeing or touching things that are different between him and Other Sans.

Sans wants to believe that Other Sans is really Frisk’s friend who’s worried about them, and he definitely seems to care whether they’re okay or not…but he’ll never forget what it feels like to know that a child he’s never even met is terribly, viscerally afraid of him. Not ever. If Other Sans really is a good guy, then he needs to have a reason why Frisk was so scared of both of them.

Other Sans hesitates for a moment before shame overtakes his expression.

“…yeah,” he says, sheepish. “i, uh. i was…kind of a jerk when i first met them. i kinda figured they’d just run through and die, so what’s the point, right? i mighta…taken it a bit too far sometimes.”

That doesn’t really explain the level of fear Frisk had—even if Other Sans was really mean to them at first, it sounds like they were friends after that. They shouldn’t have been afraid for their life just meeting another universe’s version of him.

Other Sans seems to sense his doubt. He sighs.

“…yeah, ok. the whole truth, right?” he asks reluctantly. Sans nods; he would like the truth. “fine. like i said, the whole universe-travel thing was something i came up with on the spot ‘cause they were gonna die. i didn’t exactly have time to talk it out with them beforehand. so i think they might, uh…they might sorta think i tried to kill them. free EXP, hit them while they’re down, you know how it goes.”

Sans stares at him. Other Sans looks awkward for a moment, sweating profusely. “or, uh, i guess you don’t.”

He looks up out of the corner of his eye socket, his face begging Sans to believe him. “look, the kid and i, we’d…kinda had a disagreement, right before that. argued a bit. they stormed off, i wasn’t watching them…i only found ‘em when i did ‘cause i went to apologize. by then, they were already dying. nothin’ i could do but get a broom. or…a shovel, i guess? …embalming tools?”

Other Sans shrugs.

“not the point. what i’m sayin’ is, they were already pretty out of it by the time i came up with, hey, i could just send ‘em to a cotton-fluff world and they might live. i tried to tell them what i was doing, but they were kinda…i don’t know if they really understood. i think they mighta thought i told somebody to kill them after we fought, or something.” He grimaces. “kinda another reason i want to find them so bad. i don’t want to leave things like that and have them not get it, y’know?”

He hesitates, eye sockets narrowing defensively. It seems for a moment that he’s done speaking, until a rush of words comes out, as if they’ve been building up for a year and just burst.

“i mean, i did the _right thing_ ,” Other Sans blurts, gesturing aggressively. “nobody— _nobody_ gets that. nobody fucking bothers. this place is so fucked up that i had to get rid of ‘em, but that’s _not my fault_.”

He rakes an X through the air with his hands and seethes. “the kid was damned the _second_ they fell down here; anyone who doesn’t think so is an idiot. and hell, i was pretty fucking stupid, too, ‘cause i tried! i tried to keep them alive! _i_ was the one who protected them, _i_ told the kid to go the hell home, they were _my family too_ , but that’s worth jack shit, i guess! nobody goddamned _listens_. i saved their damn life, and—you don’t get to act like i’m the bad guy here just ‘cause i did the _right thing_.”

Other Sans’s hands are clenched into fists, and his single eye has flared up again with a raw fury—and then he blinks, and his eyes focus on Sans, instead of glaring at something no one else can see. Other Sans takes a deep breath, and lets it out again. “so…yeah. point is, i was just doin’ what i had to—i _saved_ them, basically. but, uh. the kid might not know that. so i gotta find ‘em and tell ‘em that, too.”

Oh.

Oh, Frisk just _thought_ that Other Sans hurt them, but really, he saved them like a hero! That’s a relief. It was all a misunderstanding! Frisk was just scared all that time because of a miscommunication. It was all just bad timing and bad circumstances. Really, Frisk didn’t have to be scared of Sans at all—no version of him actually harmed them! He never actually hurt them. He’s okay, he’s good. Frisk is just mistaken. That’s okay, people make mistakes sometimes, and it sounds like it was a really stressful time for everyone when they came to Sans’s world. Some things just fell through the cracks, that’s all. Oh, that’s so relieving to hear.

As soon as Sans relaxes, Papy gives him a measuring glance, and he grins up at his brother. This other version of him is fine. That’s good. It’s all okay.

Sans is really glad Other Sans turned out to be totally trustworthy, too! Sans can be pretty observant when he tries to be, but he’s really not a monster meant for mistrust. This is why he doesn’t lie very often—it’s just exhausting! Other Sans already looks like he hasn’t slept in months.

For the first time, Papy speaks up. “so if you’re all on the up and up, why the runaround, guy? why didn’t you just tell us straight up if there’s an innocent explanation? obviously we were willing to listen.”

Other Sans is relaxing, too, apparently having sensed that he’s passed Sans’s inspection, if not Papyrus’s. That’s okay. Papy takes a while to warm up to strangers sometimes.

“i mean, look at it from my end here,” Other Sans’s tone of voice is smooth and persuasive. “i sent part of my family to your world as a last resort, and for all i know, you took their soul while they were defenseless. that’s pretty gross, right? why should i tell you anything? you don’t need to know how they got there or why to tell me what i need to know.”

Other Sans waves a hand dismissively. “‘sides, even if you’re not so bad, no way you’d help me if i lead in with, ‘tossed a kid to your universe, they mighta told you i tried to kill them but i promise i didn’t, now help me hunt ‘em down.’ i sound like the shittiest babysitter in the universe—pretty much any universe.”

Sans thinks that he would probably have understood, if Other Sans had called up and said he’d accidentally lost Frisk to another universe and wanted to bring them back home. That’s pretty much what Sans himself wants, anyway. Except, maybe they’ll want to go home to Other Sans…?

They can all sit down and decide that once Frisk is found. Maybe Sans and Papyrus and Other Sans can talk about it some more later, once they’ve gotten to know each other better, too. Speaking of…

“We should get nicknames!” Sans says decisively.

Other Sans and Papyrus break their dead-eyed staring contest.

“huh?”

“what?”

“Nicknames,” Sans explains confidently. “So we know what to call everyone! We’re all gonna get really confused if we have two of everyone. So we should make nicknames, so we know who’s who!”

Papy nods along, apparently distracted, and Other Sans blinks thoughtfully.

“uh, why? i literally just need, like, a sentence from you. where is the kid right now?” he says, lacing his fingers together in front of him.

…oh. Huh. All this explains how Frisk got _to_ Sans’s world, which is a mystery that he didn’t even know was a mystery, but it really doesn’t explain why they’re not here now.

Sans sweats.

“Nicknames first! I’m gonna call you Red.” Sans has never seen a skeleton—or anyone—with red magic before, and now that he’s not lying Red’s single eye remains lit up in crimson, so it’s a fitting nickname, Sans thinks.

“…that’s the dumbest nickname i’ve ever heard,” Red says. “seriously. you couldn’t come up with something cool? like, spike or something?”

He’s so miffed, Sans can’t resist poking at him just a little bit. He’s still a little giddy from relief, and wound up on anxiety and sleep deprivation. A lot of things have happened in the past two days.

“It’s okay, you can admit your true feelings! You love it, right?” Sans teases. “I bet you’re flattered to be getting such a great nickname! That’s alright, I know you accept it! Red it is. What’s my nickname, though…?”

Sans thinks. Maybe Light Blue? It doesn’t really roll off the tongue. Cyan?

Papy is still watching Red with narrowed eyes, so he’s not being very helpful with the brainstorming.

“ugh. fine, whatever. blueberry,” says Red.

“Blueberry…” Sans—that is, Blueberry—tries. “Nice! I like it! Why Blueberry?”

Red glares. “’cause without the kid, the most fun i’m gonna get out of you is if i squish you under my heel,” he says drily.

At least, Blueberry thinks that’s dry humor. He’s probably not serious, right?

“…but that wouldn’t be worth the mess it makes,” Red hastily corrects, looking a bit above Blueberry, sort of towards Papy. “so i won’t. ‘sides, humans need plants and berries to live, somehow? i dunno why, but they’ll get real sick without ‘em. it’s, uh, a compliment. heh-heh. look, it was just an idea, ok?”

He looks pretty stressed. Sans doesn’t bother looking at what Papy’s doing to get that response—sometimes people see Papy staying quiet because he’s nervous around strangers and they decide that he’s cool and mysterious and a little scary, so Red is probably just intimidated. Sans would have hoped his alternate self would know better than that, but that’s okay—they’ll have plenty of time to get to know each other!

“No, I really like it!” he insists. “Blueberry is good. What about Papy’s?”

“don’t think i need one, bro,” Papy says. “we haven’t met his world’s papyrus. where is he, by the way?”

Red glares. “not here. obviously. why do you care?”

“right,” drawls Papy. “nice and defensive, you’ve totally got nothin’ to hide. you got any siblings who aren’t mysteriously missing?”

Even Blueberry winces at that. Papyrus is really hitting below the belt. Proverbially, anyway. Actually hitting a monster below the belt would mean missing the SOUL and not doing much damage, unless it were a very strange belt.

“my brother is fine,” hisses Red. His eyes go dark and hollow. “he’s not home right now. he’ll be back later. and the kid won’t be missing anymore when you t e l l m e w h e r e t h e y a r e .”

Oh. It seems like Red is maybe running out of patience. And given the subtle rattling Sans is hearing from Papy, this might escalate a little bit if he doesn’t do something. That’s not good…

Well, honesty is the best policy, right? It’ll be like ripping off Frisk’s gross band-aid. Besides, Red can’t get too mad if Blueberry did basically the same thing Red did, right?

He isn’t getting a good feeling about this.

“Frisk is, uh…I mean…” Papy glances down at Blueberry when he speaks. Blueberry preemptively winces and blurts, “I accidentally sent them into another universe!”

Red’s left eye erupts into flame.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Red: *lies*  
> Blue: stop that  
> Red: oh okay *lies better*
> 
> I realize that between unreliable narrators and characters who are actively lying to one another, things can get a little confusing--please don't hesitate to ask, and I'll clarify in a comment or add an explanation to the story. I mean, no spoilers for things that we don't know yet in canon, but I'm happy to talk character motives or explain anything that's been addressed so far!
> 
> This universe was one that was requested--actually, every remaining universe that we'll be going through has been requested. Only a few more left!
> 
> Here's what Red was actually saying for the warped text:
> 
> "sup. it's me again, calling again. noon on a thursday, gonna give this another try. fuck. is anyone there? anyone?"  
> "hello? stupid thing. ugh, if there's anyone on that end, can you calibrate with me? I'm sending over my info."  
> "enter in the numbers. the numbers. on the screen. enter in the numbers and hit it with a stick. that usually works for me. damn it, can you hear me?"  
> "spin the dial. spin the dial. the dial. spin it. SPIN THE DIAL."  
> "it's to your left. the dial, it's to your left. spin the dial to your left."  
> "how the hell should i know? it's not my machine. you figure it out."  
> "fuck, or you won't figure it out. ugh, i just had to pick the universe where i'm a fucking dumbass. 'it'll be great,' i said. 'he's not a scientist,' i--oh, wait, he's got it. keep going, keep going...that way, that way, STOP!"  
> "ok. now read me the numbers on the third screen to your..." *realizes Blue's machine is destroyed and that screen doesn't work* "uh, fuck."  
> Assorted curses  
> "yeah, i can see that. i guess we don't need yours to work worth a damn, just..." *fiddles with controls, lowkey hacks Blue's machine to start rerouting power and processes to the parts that aren't broken* "...here, and...fuckin' piece of junk, what the hell did you do to this thing..."  
> *successfuly connects* "heh. gotcha."


	9. Fall Into LOVE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What's black and red with dust all over?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's finally time for Swapfell! This has been my most requested universe--which makes sense, given that it complements the first two universes with the most narrative importance (not that Frisktale wasn't vitally important to the plot, of course). Buckle in, because we're gonna spend a minute in this 'verse--it's not an easy breezy pacifist universe where most of the struggles are social; it's a fell universe where most of the struggles are social but with deadly pitfalls everywhere. Spicy.
> 
>  **Universe Briefing:**  
>  Swapfell: Imagine the Underswap characters in a "kill or be killed" universe. Sans is typically a co-captain or otherwise high up in the Royal Guard, while Papyrus works for him in either an official or unofficial capacity. There are several popular "versions" or designs of the Swapfell universe--many thanks to those who have patiently explained them to me.
> 
> Swapfell Red: The name for the most common, widely-available swapfell version. I took most of Sans's visual design from this version, but take away his bandanna. He doesn't have that yet. As far as characterization, I cannibalized a couple of elements and left the rest behind. Papyrus is visually and character-wise pretty different from SF Red's version of him, but there are a couple holdovers. 
> 
> My Swapfell: Different from others in a couple of ways, most of which you'll see as the fic goes on. Notably, Sans and Papyrus are definitively equals on equal footing, more so than any Sans-and-Papyrus pair we've seen so far in the fic. Queen Toriel instituted a series of harsh laws against killing monster children, especially one's own children; this is the only crime with a punishment worse than immediate execution. Consequently, a culture has sprung up around ideas of family, alliance, and coming of age. If Underfell is Chaotic Evil/every monster for themselves, then Swapfell is Lawful Evil. Recurring colors are black and purple rather than black and red. Papyrus wears a leather jacket.

This time, when Frisk Falls, they do so with momentum. They can feel the push-off from The World Where Everyone Is Frisk (But Two Inches Shorter??)—henceforth The World Best Left Forgotten.

A sensation almost like wind whips through them as they launch out to parts unknown. Well, it’s a sensation that would be like wind, if wind could blow through molecules and in between atoms. It’s also a little bit like hearing something low and loud that vibrates in their bones. If they still have bones, in this nowhere-place.

When they shatter to pieces, this time, it doesn’t feel so much like they’ve been dashed against an invisible floor and broken—they just fall apart, and Fall.

Each part of them reaches concertedly for the other parts, and they grip their broken mind around the only thing available to them—a bright, strong core that hurts and guides all at once. They flatten themself to the bolt of red magic and hold on tight. They can feel a world pass them by just to the side, and then another that nearly clips them…

There. A world strikes them dead center, and they come crashing to a halt.

* * *

This world, from the first room, is raising the hairs on the back of Frisk’s neck, making their skin crawl in anticipation.

The golden flowers that they’ve landed in face-first are ragged; the dirt beneath them is waterlogged and covered in dust. The mess is already all over Frisk—they managed to land without hurting themself too badly, but their hand aches again from where Shy Sans crushed it on accident. Even after Torisk healed it, it’s been achy, and catching themself on it didn’t help.

Only having seen the first room, so much about this world seems familiar.

If the mud were exchanged for cracked, dry earth, this could be their home world. But that’s not quite it…it’s the air, they think. There’s a certain haze to the atmosphere, a heaviness that comes from breathing in the victims of unfortunate fate.

Frisk is certain that in this world, too, it must be kill or be killed.

They hike onwards, to Flowey’s room. It’s full of broken rocks and shattered walls, left half-scorched, that provide ample hiding spots for a small enough creature. No one waits in the center of it, but like in their home world a long time ago, they approach the edge of the room. One boulder in particular is large, and placed near the center of the wall.

There’s a squeak and a flash of white fur, and Temmie stares up at them, terrified.

They’re almost disappointed. Of course, they haven’t come back to their home world…that’s just not possible. Red Sans said so. But still, everything is just so familiar…

“N-noes!! A human!!!” Temmie hides their face in their paws. Their four ears are flattened as much as possible into their skull. “Oh noes, oh noes…what should Tem do…? Aah…h-human, Tem would like to say…hOI! But instead, Temy has to say,, BOI!”

Temmie peeks out from one paw as they begin to vibrate, phasing slowly through the floor.

Frisk looks pleadingly at them and clasps their hands in a begging gesture. Every Flowey or Temmie they’ve met has given them some sort of introduction to the world they’ve been in, and it’s nearly always invaluable. Even Dancing Flowey, who tried to kill them, taught them that monsters in his world liked to dance.

Temmie looks fretfully side to side, still vibrating slowly downward.

“Oh…Tem will give you a help first, cute human,” Temmie says. One beady eye assesses Frisk, most of their face still hidden behind their paws. “Tem will say…in the Underground, it is illegal to kill children! But! To take the SOUL of a human…every monster wants that! Uwaah~ so scary!”

With that, Temmie is gone.

Illegal to kill children…? No Underground Frisk has ever been to has had a law like that. Or, if they have, humans have been an exception.

No, monsters have killed them without knowing that they’re human, Frisk is pretty sure. They can’t be totally certain, but…it must have happened some time, right? Monsters are sometimes pretty bad at recognizing humans, but they’re pretty good at killing Frisk. At least, they were, in the first few weeks Underground before Frisk learned to dodge and run away and be on guard.

And besides, they know for certain that it wasn’t illegal to kill children in the Fell-From Underground, in their home.

Real Papyrus sat down and explained it to them very seriously one day just after they’d moved into the garage, before it had been more than a temporary setup with a dog bed and some barbed wire at the door.

He’d talked to them, gently for Real Papyrus but very clearly, telling them how someone could kill a child for easy EXP and LOVE. Or how children could kill adults for the same reason—though a child killing an adult would gain more EXP than LOVE, of course; and an adult killing a child would gain a lot of LOVE but little EXP.

EXP, Real Papyrus had explained, is a measure a monster’s previous executions. It measures only how many kills a monster has made, and how much LOVE the victims had compared to the killer—therefore, how hard they were to kill. Children are easy to kill and offer little EXP; but killing an adult would give a child a massive EXP boost.

LOVE, on the other hand, is measured differently.

Real Papyrus had begun to explain it, but Red Sans had cut in by saying that high LOVE means that a person is pretty much evil, and Frisk shouldn’t stick around to give people like that a chance, because that kind of person will take it to kill them without a second’s hesitation. “just come get me or come back here,” he’d said. “better yet, find some other poor bastard to throw at ‘em. better them than you. you don’t like fighting and all, but monsters with high LOVE are, uh. don’t spend time with those guys.”

Then Papyrus started yelling, insisting that it was entirely possible to be an honorable monster with high LOVE, and they aren’t all mindlessly bloodthirsty, and Sans was oversimplifying the issue.

“LOVE is merely power,” he’d explained, even though Frisk kind of got the feeling that that wasn’t what he was going to tell them before Sans came along (“power you get by crawling in dust,” Sans had muttered). “Power is survival. Power allows one to have and protect a family. Power is life, human—don’t ever let anyone see you without it. Ever!”

He’d looked particularly fierce, and glared at Sans, before turning a sharp and terrifying grin to them. “If, one day, you happened to come home having gained LOVE—the door would still open! Your very great and terrible friend Papyrus will still recognize you! Be wary, of course—just as much of desperate low-LOVE monsters as of any high-LOVE Boss monster. But LOVE is not a death sentence for who you are on the inside! That person will still exist, and I will know where to find them!”

“…screaming in the back of your head while you run around killing people and stealing their money,” Sans had added. “and then that person is dead, after a little more LOVE. trust me, kiddo—this ain’t something to mess around with. you’ve got a great number system that tells you exactly how evil someone is—use it. CHECK and run, buddy.”

The tension in the air had grown palpable, with both brothers glaring at the other as they made their point. Frisk hadn’t even wanted an explanation anymore, at that point; they hate when Sans and Papyrus fight. It always makes both of them so sad afterwards.

About when Papyrus started throwing around words like “judgmental,” “self-righteous,” and “asinine” to describe hypothetical monsters who would judge others solely by LOVE without taking into account context, or the actual deeds of the hypothetical high-LOVE monster in question; and Red Sans muttered something about self-centered something or other; Frisk had had to flee the conversation. They didn’t want to be around when bone attacks might be ‘accidentally’ let loose.

The brothers wouldn’t really hurt each other, of course—they’re family, and family is important. Even when you’re mad, family is more important. But then again, what does Frisk know? They had been so certain that Sans and Papyrus wouldn’t ever hurt them, either.

…no. Sans and Papyrus love each other a whole lot, or they wouldn’t have gotten so upset with each other all the time. They just…weren’t very good at loving people, maybe.

That doesn’t feel right, either…

Frisk remembers when Papyrus would say he was proud of them. He’d say that they were worthy of calling themself the ward and then the honorary sibling of the Great and Terrible Papyrus, and he’d ruffle their hair too hard and get it stuck in his joints and use silly curses and exclamations as he freed himself, threatening to “cut that mop off!!”

He always looked surprised when they laughed at his antics. Surprised, and then proud. Frisk would always feel proud, too, that they could put that look on his face.

Frisk wanted him to feel like that all of the time, back then, but it never lasted for longer than one perfect moment. Sans would come by, and Papyrus would say something to him, and he’d say something back, and the fighting would start again.

Sans and Papyrus were always fun to hang out with one-on-one, but Frisk can count on one hand the number of times they spent with both brothers together that didn’t involve death or violence or arguing. At least, for the first few weeks of their stay in the brothers’ garage.

The more Frisk got to know Sans and Papyrus, the more they seemed to get happier—they seemed to forget about making themselves miserable, sometimes, when Frisk was around to distract them. It was like a miracle.

Sans and Papyrus had been fighting less as Frisk made their way through Waterfall, living in simmering silence and occasional acerbic snipes. By the time they’d reached Sans’s hotdog stand in Hotland, the brothers had been making awkward small talk, each looking at the other like they weren’t quite sure what to make of him anymore.

Neither of them had ever _wanted_ to hate his brother; Frisk is sure. Just…something went wrong, some time, and pretend-hate got a little too serious. Frisk has a bone-deep certainty that Sans and Papyrus’s love for each other, hidden deep down and tucked into corners, is as pure as gold and more valuable besides.

They’d been so hopeful, so _proud_ to be a part of that family. It had meant everything to them, finally having a place to call home. They’d felt so _safe_. It all felt so _real_.

…why are they remembering this now? It’s over. There’s no going back.

Frisk’s heart aches awfully. It’s a feeling they hesitate to name, except that it’s probably just that the bone attack is bothering them again, nothing more. It’s just…unusually sharp, right now. Instead of impaling their heart, it feels like it’s tearing in two, pulling one half endlessly back to how things used to be. Or to how Frisk thought they were, before the Long Fall ripped that illusion from their protesting hands.

It’s probably best not to think about home so much. This place just brings it all back, so familiar, like they’ll turn their head and there’ll be Papyrus, patrolling as usual, or Sans in an unlikely location trying to shepherd them home.

No one is coming, though. No matter how much they search for that one familiar thing that will bring them back…

Frisk can never go home. The idea sits in their head, not unfamiliar, but still…bad.

It’s probably fair to say that Frisk doesn’t have a home. That thought is more familiar, sitting in well-worn grooves in the back of their head.

They wonder if Papyrus misses them. It’s probably pretty selfish of them, but they hope he does. They hope he thinks of them. He’s almost certainly dealing with their disappearance better than they are; Papyrus is really cool like that.

They hope he would be proud of them now, too. They haven’t really done much for him to be proud of, but they hope he would be proud of their survival. They hope he would be proud that they haven’t given up. They’ve tried hard not to let anyone they don’t trust see them kneel.

If the Papyrus they knew was real at all, he would want them to keep their chin up and defeat their enemies in a shower of death. They aren’t really planning on showering death on anyone in the foreseeable future, but they sure are keeping their chin up.

Frisk moves forward.

* * *

After fleeing this world’s Asgore, Frisk pushes the door from the Ruins open and feels the bitter cold of Snowdin poking through their singed, over-repaired sweater. It stings more here than it did in Wonderland or Dancing World or The World That Is Best Left Forgotten. The cold isn’t cheery, in this world; it’s hostile.

Still, Asgore is behind them, and he’s as insane as Real Toriel ever was; so they don’t want to give him time to change his mind about letting them go. They dart through the door and slam it shut.

They don’t even have time to catch their breath before they die.

* * *

YOU HAVE DIED. REFUSE? asks their LOAD screen. The only option available is NO.

…that’s new. Is dying different in this world?

…does their SAVE power not work…? No, no, they made a SAVE before. They’re okay. They just have an extra question before their SAVE. Nothing bad will happen to them if they don’t refuse to die, right? They just need to finish up dying and then they can LOAD?

Before they can talk themself out of it, Frisk braces themself and chooses NO.

LOAD? asks their LOAD screen, supplying their last SAVE. This time, there’s a YES and a NO, and the RESET button in case they really mess up. Or accidentally SAVE over the second before their death; they’ve done that before. It’s just an endless loop of dying.

Okay. Okay, so there’s a normal LOAD and RESET menu now. That’s good and fine. Frisk is fine—dead, but fine. This world has a weird death thing where they can refuse death except not really, but that’s okay, probably.

It’s probably maybe a little like in the Barrier FIGHT, when the world refuses to die around them. Except that right now, the world isn’t in danger, and actually nothing is in danger, and everything is fine. Nothing is wrong at all.

What a strange concept.

* * *

Frisk pushes the door from the Ruins open and feels the bitter cold of Snowdin poking through their singed, over-repaired sweater. This cold is hostile. They wait a moment to get their bearings before stepping out.

There’s the path, the bush with the camera, the dense forest…

…the all-consuming wall of bone attacks that kills them in an instant.

YOU HAVE DIED. REFUSE?

NO.

* * *

Frisk pushes the door from the Ruins open and feels the bitter cold of Snowdin poking through their singed, over-repaired sweater. _They’re_ feeling pretty hostile—this is no way to greet a new friend!

Knowing that it’s coming, they keep a sharp eye out to the trees on the left of the path, just quickly enough to see a wall of wine-colored magic come at them. There’s a gap that’s slightly bigger than they are on the left, and then one they could barely eke through on the right; but they don’t have time to do either.

YOU HAVE DIED. REFUSE?

NO.

* * *

Frisk pushes the door from the Ruins open and feels the bitter cold of Snowdin poking through their sweater. They take a confident step forward and hurl themself to the left—just in time to miss the first three bones in the attack that materializes in front of them.

Those three bones are followed by a maze of others, and they duck to the right and reach a dead end. Literally.

YOU HAVE DIED. REFUSE?

NO.

* * *

Frisk pushes the door from the Ruins open and feels the bitter cold poking through their sweater. They hold both hands out in front of them in a pacifying motion, and accordingly don’t manage to dodge even the first two bones. Their death is swift and brutal.

 _Looks like talking isn’t gonna work this time_.

YOU HAVE DIED. REFUSE?

NO.

* * *

Frisk pushes the door from the Ruins open and feels the bitter cold through their sweater.

They dodge left before they even see the attack, then left again to avoid the dead end, then have a split second to decide whether to risk a jump. They do—and they don’t see what kills them after that. There’s only searing light and then a lancing pain that takes their last HP.

YOU HAVE DIED. REFUSE?

NO.

* * *

Frisk pushes the door open and feels the bitter cold through their sweater. They decide to try going right this time—the attacks always appear in front of them, but they seem to be coming from the left somewhere. Their attacker must be in the woods on that side of the path, or behind the bush, maybe.

Sure enough, the barrage appears again, moving towards them. The gap in the bone wall is barely enough to squeeze through—Sans, if this is Sans, was probably expecting that they wouldn’t fit, but Frisk is great at dodging into gaps that they shouldn’t be able to fit through.

Since he didn’t start a FIGHT before hurling attacks at them, they’re not restrained by the bullet box—there’s no outside border to this encounter. Frisk sprints into the woods on the opposite side of the path from where they think the attacks are coming from. They trip on a branch, and go tumbling.

They catch a glimpse of their attacker as he appears at the end of their path—they roll to a stop straight into his shiny boots, in fact.

This Sans is well put together, wearing a uniform a little like Real Papyrus’s. He stands at a perfect parade rest, except that his arms are both raised—oh, he was summoning an attack from beneath them.

This Sans is gonna be a _pain_.

YOU HAVE DIED. REFUSE?

NO.

* * *

Frisk pushes the door open and feels the bitter cold. They sprint to the right, hop over the branch, and hear the sound of splintering bark behind them. _Sorry!_ they think to it. Seems like they just can’t save it in any timeline.

As for saving themself, though—they take another sharp right in the woods, and begin to zigzag deeper in. Snaps and crashes follow them, and then a subaural _VOOM_ as blinding light passes in a beam to their left—they immediately dodge into the cleared space and avoid another to their right, duck into a roll and miss another one. They hear curses behind them.

They stumble coming to their feet, but not badly enough to stop them—or it wouldn’t be, if it weren’t for what they were stumbling over.

They fall off an icy cliff. They must hit their head on the way down, because they feel a sharp _crack!_ and then they die.

YOU HAVE DIED. REFUSE?

NO.

* * *

Frisk pushes the door open. It’s cold. They sprint to the right, hop the branch, zigzag, remember the laser thing, remember the other two laser things, reach the cliff, and run full tilt over the edge this time.

It’s not the worst cliff ever; it just leads down past Glyde’s mysterious door. They roll to absorb their impact with a starburst of pain, but their feet don’t give out under them, so they’re running again, keeping their path and pace irregular. Sans can teleport; speed isn’t their best ally. They need him not to know where they’re going, so he doesn’t know where to teleport _to_.

Luck seems to be on their side—they manage to get some distance from the cliff’s edge by the time their pursuer leaves the woods. They get another glimpse of a dark uniform as he calls a wave of bones down on them, but this one is more dispersed, covering a much larger area than the one that greeted them at the door. They dodge all but one bone, and get out of the way before that one can do too much harm.

This Sans could certainly teleport to them, but he watches them for a moment instead, holding his ground as they retreat.

Frisk looks ahead, and they’re pretty sure they see why Sans isn’t coming after them.

Glyde in this world is horrible. He hardly looks like a monster, just this…dark mass of a grin. They have a second to take him in, halting completely. Sans watches them watch Glyde.

Glyde moves, and the entire area is covered in bullets. Frisk takes a flying leap off the next cliff down, even though they’ve never seen what’s below it in any world.

There’s a divot in the wall that they might be able to hold on to…if they were just a little further to the right.

YOU HAVE DIED. REFUSE?

NO.

* * *

Frisk opens the door. It’s cold. Sans is trying to kill them. They run right, leap over the stick, dodge a beam, dodge another, dodge the third, leap off the cliff, get into Glyde’s territory, and snarl at Glyde to provoke covering fire before Sans is even out of the woods yet.

Glyde obligingly creates a blizzard of bullets. Frisk grins at him and dives off the cliff, swinging expertly into the cave.

They’re a little out of practice, but they’re glad to know they haven’t gotten rusty. Real Papyrus would be bragging for _days_ if he saw that smooth dodging. And Shy Sans would be impressed, too—they kept their head on straight and some pretty good posture!

The bullets will disturb the snow to ruin any chance of tracking their footsteps, and they’ve already obscured any chance of seeing which way they went—it’s like they just vanished. Neither of their pursuers will know where to look. Even if they did, Glyde wouldn’t fit in the shallow cave they’ve found; and if they’re reading Sans’s hesitation right, he’s wary of crossing Glyde’s turf. Frisk has found a moment of respite.

Their clean escape fills them with DETERMINATION.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! Welcome to Swapfell~ This arc is going to teach us more about Underfell, as well, given the similarities between the two; but once we pick up with the SF brothers' shenanigans, they'll have plenty of time in the spotlight. This is probably the universe we'll spend the most time in.
> 
> Out of curiosity, I do have to ask: how is everyone feeling about Red/UF!Sans at this point? Conniving SOB? Don't have enough information to say? Misunderstood genius? Probably not that last one. I'm walking kind of a delicate line with his characterization, and I'm wondering how I'm doing. And, if you have the time: which character(s) would you like to see more of? We have a lot of folks running around, and I'd like to get a sense of how the narrative balance is playing out on your end.
> 
> Thanks always for reading, and I'll see you in two weeks!


	10. Familiar Stranger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frisk gets their bearings. Sans makes an offer that Frisk can't refuse. 
> 
> ...no, actually, it looks like they can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Briefing:**  
>  Since Sans primarily communicates his emotions through his little eye light things in the game, I've put some significance in those. Red, for example, normally has one eye lit up with an iris but not on fire, because he's ready for a scrap but not actively summoning his magic; but he'd have the standard two white lights if he were to chill for 2 seconds (or when he chooses to in order to appear vulnerable and manipulate people *whistles*). Blue's eyes tend to be more dynamic and colorful because he has a lot of magic and energy to spare, as well as being naturally expressive; thus, they're often star-shaped out of excitement. The Sans-es can consciously control their eyes in the same way you can consciously control your body language--if they pay attention, they can suppress/fake a reaction, but there are some things that creep through to people who know them well.
> 
> The Papyri do not have eye lights, though they can all do that eyeball boggling thing, because I think it's hilarious. That's not super important or it would be in the fic itself, but I thought I'd put in a note, because it's good background.
> 
> On an unrelated note: one day, far in the future, SF!Papyrus's nickname will be Slim.

Frisk isn’t totally sure, but they think they might’ve done something to offend this world’s Sans.

That, or he’s a really enthusiastic member of this world’s Snowdin Anti-Tourism Committee. In Fell-From Universe, that committee was a big problem for Frisk. But he certainly seems to have…not-neutral feelings towards them. A couple of sharp and pointy sentiments, Real Papyrus might say.

Evidence that this world’s Sans dislikes them, personally (or tourism, generally): he has left a _lot_ of traps at the edge of the woods, most of which seem unfairly deadly. The number of traps grows daily, as well as the number of monsters accidentally caught in their crossfire. No one but Frisk has died yet, but he’s really not pulling his punches—Frisk has always known that Sans can be deadly if he needs to, but the only Sans they’ve seen who’s willing to be this ruthless is Red Sans, and only twice at that.

One of those times was when Frisk was separated from Papyrus and Flowey and killed by Undyne again and again and again and they called Sans and begged him, because they still weren’t used to dying and it still scared them a little back then, and even though he didn’t seem to like them much, they didn’t know what else to do. They called for help.

Sans appeared out of nowhere. He said things were gonna be okay and to close their eyes and cover their ears until he said it was over and they could look.

Frisk peeked. Of course they did.

Sans had the element of surprise—no one had expected him to intervene, and even if he did, no one thought he’d able to really hurt anyone. It was quick and brutal. For the first time, Frisk felt like they were safe with Sans, hiding behind his jacket while bone attacks surrounded them.

Also for the first time, Sans picked them up and carted them home to Snowdin with a shortcut. He told them it was okay to look now only when they were safely in the living room, and he sat them down on the lumpy couch and awkwardly gave them a blanket. He stayed long enough to pat them once, leaving a dusty skeletal handprint on them before fleeing.

Papyrus came home not long after. He tried to pretend he wasn’t really upset, but he was.

That was also the very first time Frisk deliberately died in order to go back and keep something from happening. They were sure there was a better way to get through Waterfall and make friends with Undyne. They didn’t want anyone to die because they got scared and called Sans when Undyne couldn’t have killed them for good anyway (despite how tired Frisk was beginning to feel, dying and coming back again and again. How hopeless).

Papyrus had been even more upset, if possible, but Sans had looked at them while their SOUL shattered like he was almost expecting it to happen, and he waved a sort of rueful goodbye as Frisk died.

…anyway. This Sans. This world. There are a lot of traps to hint that Black Sans (named for his uniform, the only thing about him that Frisk has gotten a clear glimpse of before a swift death or an even quicker getaway) has some murder-y feelings about Frisk, maybe. Evidence that Black Sans dislikes Frisk: several deaths, some pain, and a lot of inconvenience when they want to leave the woods.

Evidence that this world’s Sans has nothing against Frisk or any other well-intentioned strangers sleeping in the woods:

…

…well, Frisk is sure to come up with something once he stops trying to kill them.

Luckily, Frisk is pretty sure someone told Black Sans to stop putting traps on well-used paths. When they can escape the woods, there’s a brief stretch of path that’s sparsely trapped—a pitfall here, a tripwire there, barely even deadly—that leads towards Snowdin, and by then they’re pretty much home free.

It’s just Sans who’s rudely determined to kill them, they’re pretty sure. The dog guards haven’t been bothering them—about a week into their stay in their most recent Snowdin(’s nearby woods), the dogs have gotten used to Frisk. The revelation that dogs can pet other dogs is life-changing in any universe, apparently; and if all else fails, throwing the charred stick they got from Dancing World always seems to work.

Doggo did kill them once or twice at first, but once he realized they’re a kid he said sorry and let them go. Well, he swore a lot and begged with slightly scary desperation that they not tell anyone he ever harmed them. That’s basically an apology. And he gave them money.

That’s the motivation behind their current journey—they have a little bit of money, and they need food, and maybe someone to tell them more about this world. It’s more like home than most of the others, which is kind of nice, but it means they need to be more alert if they don’t want to die and backtrack constantly.

Plus, with the weird REFUSE option that appears when they die, Frisk wants to be a little careful—they don’t _feel_ like that option is a bad thing, but they probably shouldn’t mess with their own life and death, and stuff. Either way, it’s a good idea to stock up on information and healing items, if they have the chance.

They’re pretty sure the shop and inn bunnies can provide both, for a price. And maybe they can sleep in a real bed…

Mmm, a real bed…

Frisk has big dreams.

Right now, they’re just coming out of the first leg of the hike towards Snowdin from their hidey hole. They can see the path up ahead—one more round of traps and they’ll be out of the relative safety of Glyde’s territory, where no one else dares to trespass, but more or less home free.

Luckily, this world’s Sans seems to be stealing most of his trap repertoire from Real Papyrus, so far. Sometimes he flips things around, but Frisk can mostly remember Real Papyrus’s tricks and get by. This Sans is no match for training by the Great and Terrible Papyrus!

Speaking of which, the last dense span of trees between them and the path has a couple of glinting trap triggers that they can see right off—a sparkle of magic in the branches of two trees to their right; an oddly-bent bough at their one o’clock; something shiny in the snow lump at their ten. That means they’re probably missing at least two traps at their eleven and two, if the traps are evenly spaced along the road. Plus whatever overlap this world’s Sans deemed necessary. Given how enthusiastic his traps have been so far, Frisk is going to bet there are extras.

The disturbed snow at their ten o’clock isn’t big enough for a pitfall, and it’s too even for spikes—though hidden spikes could, of course, be anywhere. Frisk is willing to bet on a pressure plate for that one. They like pressure plate traps best, because it’s basically a big red button, but hidden.

Right, then—forward and to the left.

They don’t try to step around the pressure plate as they approach it. Sometimes dodging the obvious threat triggers a more deadly, hidden trap; and they’d rather have all their incoming attacks be out in the open and expected. The plate makes an ominous _ka-thunk_ as they step, and they have an instant to hurl themself forward.

From there, there’s no way out but through.

Frisk ducks a volley of bones released by the pressure plate, and neatly slides past a gnashing spike trap that springs up ahead of them. A sliding, scraping sound comes from their left—they remember Shy Sans’s lessons and pirouette through a volley of totally nonmagical daggers.

Like they thought, the daggers are timed for someone walking or running, and dancing is a different enough type of movement as to throw off the trap’s timing entirely without killing their momentum.

Also, Frisk likes imagining that this world’s Sans can see them dancing through his gauntlet. They add a cheeky spin and wink in a random direction. Blue Sans and Shy Sans would maybe be impressed, so this world’s Sans might think it’s funny…?

A huge, intricate bone javelin whistles through the air in front of Frisk, missing them by a hair and dumb luck. They didn’t even see the trigger for that one.

Maybe this Sans wouldn’t be too happy about them playing with his traps. Frisk keeps on getting these subtle hints that maybe he is not ready to be their friend just yet. At least he’s making his feelings clear—or he’s a big tsundere.

Frisk takes a moment to try to imagine Sans stuttering and yelling that he doesn’t want to be their friend while setting up all these traps. It seems like more of a Papyrus thing to do.

Either way, the javelin lands on its side just next to the path, and Frisk leaps over it in a mostly-perfect sashay, landing with a bow and extending their hand to an imaginary partner. The cold air stings their lungs and throat, invigorating, as they pant a little—traps are hard work! That seems to have been the last one, though. They’re out of the literal and metaphorical woods, now, and on the path.

Frisk giggles a little. This Sans is really working hard on his greeting for them—even if it’s not very friendly, it’s kind of fun, isn’t it? Maybe he wants to be friends after all.

It doesn’t take long on the barely-trapped path before the familiar Deadly Snow Ball Game clearing appears before them—but, like in Wonderland, the Deadly Snow Ball Game itself has been replaced. Instead of a snowball to be kicked through the field into a hole, there is a snowball resting on one end of a cleared court filled with traps. At the very end is a hoop twice Frisk’s height, which is probably also trapped.

The Deadly Snow Ball Game has turned into the Equally Deadly Snow _Basketball_ Game.

…well, it’s probably still funded by the Tyrannical Snow Tax, right? Which means they’ll get money if they can win. A lot of money, if they do really well. Enough money for _two_ nights at the Inn…?

It’s _Deadly Snow Basketball_. Frisk can’t _not_ play it.

Frisk rolls up their right sleeve—their left got torn at some point and now only goes to their forearm—and rubs their hands together to warm up. This fun new game fills them with DETERMINATION!

* * *

150 G and several deaths later, Frisk is beginning to get the hang of Deadly Snow Basketball. Now that they have an idea of how to get the ball to the goal end of the court, the real trick is to die while they do it.

It’s more challenging than it sounds.

Still, they’ve survived enough that they’ve been able to build up some pretty good winnings, and they’re kind of thinking of making a SAVE so that they can keep playing some more. They’re pretty sure they can get enough for a few healing items _and_ a night at the Inn if they keep trying for another hour or two, and then maybe save some in case this world’s Sans is a jerk and tries to charge them for standing on his lawn and breathing his air?

Or he might give them an elaborate fine for messing up his carefully-crafted snow lumps like Shy Sans joked about doing. Or claim that his living room is a toll road like Blue Sans stopped Cozy Papyrus from doing. Or offer them a really, really expensive mask of their own face to “help them fit in” like The Sans That Shall Not Be Named did.

It was _Frisk’s_ face! If anyone should be paying to use it, it’s Sfrisks! Frisk had it first!

…or did they? They’ve never met any Frisks in any other worlds…maybe they’re originally from The World Best Left Forgotten, and they got to the Fell-From World by mistake, somehow, and what if they’re not _the_ Frisk, but just _a_ Frisk who got lost…? Does that mean they do or don’t have to pay to use their own face???

This is why that world is best left forgotten.

Honestly, it’s almost a relief when the hairs on the back of Frisk’s neck raise, rescuing them from their train of thought. They can practically hear Shy Sans saying, _whoa there buddy, maybe put the thousand-yard stare away for now, huh?_ and _let’s try it more like, ‘hey, you surprised me, but i’m happy and super relaxed to see my friendly pal, bud,’_ as their gaze sharpens on the horizon, seeking the threat before it can seek them.

Their body wants to tense, but they tell it no like Shy Sans taught them to, keeping it neutral and relaxed instead as they pause for a moment. They look casually curious as they watch the path, locking onto the source of their instinct.

The tingle of awareness says _danger_ and the heaviness to the atmosphere says _more danger_ , so it’s probably—

There. Movement. More than movement—monsters.

No, one monster. He’s small and dark and moving with upright purpose, getting closer with every step.

A black figure in the distance. Looks like Deadly Snow Basketball is turning into hide-and-go-seek.

Frisk hurls the Snow Basketball into the woods to melt and vanish, and scampers on after it, tucking themself away in the shadows between the trees. They’re gonna take on the better part of valor, and run away and hide.

The forest looms in front of them as they turn away from Black Sans, dark and forbidding and safe, probably. Wasn’t there a big, hollow tree around here in Wonderland? Does it still exist in this world? It was a good hiding spot.

Which way was it, though…? They’re not sure where the traps are in this part of the woods, and they really don’t want to die and lose all the money they just won.

Sure, they could win it again, but that’s not the _same_. They want to keep what they _have_ , not win it all over again and still die.

What they have now is about fifteen seconds before Sans gets close enough that he’ll definitely notice them moving. They choose a direction on intuition alone, and hurry off the path and into the woods.

* * *

Frisk is cold.

They’ve been in the woods, hiding in the hollow of the huge, old tree—which they did find, eventually—and waiting for Sans to come by and kill them for at least an hour. Which sounds like, okay, a moderate amount of time, but for a human hiding between some big old trees in an underground cave where it’s always winter, it’s forever. Frisk wishes they’d been able to retrieve the gloves that they know are around here somewhere.

Or gotten to town before Sans scared them off. They could be in a room with a roof right now…

 _Soon_ , they promise their aching bones and red, tight skin. Soon, they’ll be able to go to the Inn for a little while, and Sans probably can’t kill them there.

They aren’t in any real danger from the cold. It’s uncomfortable, but they don’t think it’ll kill them. The worst it does is make old injuries ache and act up.

They flex their right hand, assessing. It’s stiff, but they can feel every joint in it. It hurts especially around the bones in the sides of their hand, where Shy Sans’s surprisingly strong grip had nearly, for a moment, caught them. Nothing is numb, which is good. Frisk is pretty sure that numbness means bad things.

If they don’t keep up with stretching it, Torisk said, it won’t heal right. She didn’t say anything about the cold, though…

Their cliffside cave near Glyde’s door is warm enough. They should get back home to hunker down—it’s getting late, anyway. Then they can stretch their hand and take stock of their Deadly Snow Basketball wounds and winnings. Tomorrow when they’re rested, they can get to Snowdin, and maybe a healing item will help with their hand. Or they can find Grillby, and see if he’ll agree to warm it up with fire magic. That would probably help, right?

Frisk stretches out each limb and shakes their head before rising from their hiding spot. At least it isn’t snowing right now, or they might have been buried, too. They’re practically lucky.

Their SOUL appears in front of them as they’re pulled into an encounter.

…really? In the middle of the woods? Immediately after they unhide?

They feel a little less practically lucky.

It’s Snowdrake that has appeared in front of them, scowling fiercely. That’s a relief—they’d been worried about Sans.

“It’s _snow_ good to meet you. I bet you’re real _ice_.” Snowdrake scowls and spits the words out, glaring sullenly.

Frisk tries a CHECK. _This monster has been laughed at his whole life_.

That’s not like Snowdrake how they know him…doesn’t he want to be laughed at? He really likes jokes, and things!

Well, maybe not this version. Frisk leaps backwards to avoid a flurry of ice, then jerks to the side to get out of the way of the follow-up round. They keep a close eye on their SOUL, trying not to disturb the bone attack in it. It hasn’t been bothering them too much today, and they don’t want to give it ideas.

They’re picking up too many long-term injuries. It isn’t safe.

At least Snowdrake doesn’t seem to want them dead really super badly, because it’s only that brief round of attacks before it’s Frisk’s turn again. JOKE, they decide.

They hold up a finger to Snowdrake, and write down a joke in the notebook they received in the World Best Left Forgotten (they’re not doing a very good job of forgetting it).

_You think I’m (n)ice, but it takes one to sknow one!_

Snowdrake blinks.

Frisk turns the notebook to face him more and pushes it at him.

He looks down at it again, skims the words, and blinks.

“That’s…” His feathers are fluffed and ruffled. “What? That couldn’t be worse! You took your whole turn writing it, and you—it wasn’t even good? You just stole my joke and wasted your turn to make it bad!”

In spite of his words, he’s cackling.

“Oh, man, you’re the worst. Hey, Ice! Look at this stupid kid!” Snowdrake calls.

He’s spent _his_ whole turn laughing at them, so Frisk tears the page out of their notebook and hands it to him. He seems to really get a kick out of it.

“Oh, thanks, stupid kid. Everyone’s gonna have someone to laugh at other than me now! Hey, I’ve got a joke for you—it’s your life!” Snowdrake crows.

Frisk shrugs. People laughing at them isn’t so bad, as long as they’re not laughing at Frisk’s imminent torture and/or death.

Actually, Mettaton’s TV specials aren’t so bad, either, come to think of it.

Snowdrake’s name is yellow, so Frisk chooses MERCY and waves goodbye to him. He’s already wandering off, presumably to tell the other teens to laugh at them.

Frisk has made a new friend!

* * *

Frisk continues their winning streak the very next day, on attempt number two to get to Snowdin. This time, they’ve met Ice Cap on the path—or rather, they’ve met Ice.

Luckily, they’ve got a pretty good idea about how to befriend it!

“S-so, you think if I wear a cool hat, I’ll stand out? Really?” Ice stutters, caught between bluster and shyness. Frisk gives it a winning smile, leaning down to start collecting snow. They’re gonna make the coolest cap!

“I mean, there’s that skeleton who always has those really nice scarves…NOBODY messes with him. He’s so creepy, always hanging out by that brother of his and just watching…they say his scarves are so nice ‘cause no one ever gets close enough to get dust on them before he kills them.” Ice shivers…somehow. “I won’t be weird like that guy, will I? I want to be cool!”

Frisk still hasn’t gotten a good look at the Sans of this world, and they haven’t seen proverbial hide nor hair of any Papyrus, so they’re not totally sure which one Ice is talking about. They don’t think Sans was wearing a scarf…?

Hiding behind his brother and watching ‘cause he’s shy sounds kind of like Cozy Papyrus. Ice is probably talking about this world’s Papyrus, then—with Asgore not being king and Temmie replacing Flowey, this world is kind of like if Frisk’s world and Wonderland had a baby. Fell-From-Wonderland. Felland. Wonder-From…der.

…Wonderfell?

It has potential.

Still, they’re sure Ice will look very dashing with its new hat, so they give it a solid thumbs up and fashion some more spikes for it. This world is the first they’ve seen since their home world that has sensible fashion in it—the pointier something is, the cooler! That means Ice is about to be _ice cold_.

…Chara thought that one was funny, they’re pretty sure. Chara has been quiet in this world except for intermittent feelings and intuitions, but that was definitely a giggle in the back of their head. Frisk is glad their best material isn’t going to waste.

They’ve compacted the snow into a pretty good shape by now, they think—it’s very spiky and dangerous-looking, and Ice will cut a very striking figure with it on. They pick it up delicately, careful not to push too hard so they won’t smash it.

Despite itself, Ice looks pretty excited. It likes its new look already!

Just as Frisk is about to stand, carrying the hat to Ice, they see something freeze at the corner of their vision.

_Oh, no._

Frisk senses Chara’s dread, and kind of knows what they’re going to find. Still, they look over, to try to get a handle on the imminent attack before it kills them.

Sure enough, not five paces away is Sans, with no footprints behind him in the snow. He’s frozen in apparent shock with his foot half-raised for another step.

His face is blank for the moment, with viciously sharp teeth that make Frisk shudder. He’s not missing any of them. He has scars raked over one eye, three to Real Papyrus’s two, and he’s maybe a little shorter than the other Sanses Frisk has met so far. The deep bags are still there under his eyes, but his eyes themselves are purple, for some reason. Both are visible, and intense. His face is drawn by harsh lines.

This world’s Sans does wear a uniform; an extravagant one that looks well-made and well-kept. It’s black and has gold and purple trim, and several buttons, crests, and insignias that Frisk recognizes about half of. There’s the Delta Rune, they know, and something with a crown…his shoulder pads are intimidating.

He has gloves on, like Blue Sans. They’re purple and they look very nice. Frisk likes them.

Still, he looks…smaller, somehow, than Frisk was expecting…?

Not less dangerous, though, as he grins with dark satisfaction. He draws them into an encounter quickly, before they can think to run.

“Human,” he says. His voice is loud and villainous and booming, like a supervillain. “You have proved to be a singularly frustrating opponent, as expected by one of your kind…however! Admirable as they are, your cleverness and DETERMINATION can only get you so far! This ends now.”

He punctuates his statement by raising his hand, and one eye bursts into magical flame, the other disappearing as one of the massive skull monsters Frisk has seen before appears behind him. Frisk leaps to one side, nearly unbalanced with the hat still in their hands, and is barely missed by a beam of bright light. The heat is intense even standing near the blast—Frisk’s hair is buffeted back out of their face, and the snow around them melts and hardens again.

Frisk is prepared to jump or dodge, but no follow-up attack comes, and Sans ends his turn.

What is he doing…?

There’s a shiver to Frisk’s left.

Ice! Ice is still here—and pulled into the encounter, it looks like. It spends its turn cowering.

Looking at the melted and frozen snow around them…the blast missed Ice by a mile, but Frisk dodged towards Ice, and not away (stupid—Ice could have killed them while they were distracted). There’s no guarantee that if Sans sent another attack of that magnitude at Frisk, he wouldn’t simply melt it.

…Sans is holding back, because he’s protecting Ice. That must be what his uniform means—he’s part of the Royal Guard of this world! And the Royal Guard of this world must actually function to protect monsters, like in Wonderland! So he doesn’t want to hurt them while Ice is right here. Kind of like Real Undyne, and Dancing Undyne, when that monster kid is around.

Black Sans _is_ a good person.

Well, he’s a good person who still wants them dead, but baby steps are important here. He already doesn’t hate absolutely everyone, which is a really big deal!

And, even better…the hat in their hands was not immune to the heat of the blast, either. It’s melted just enough to harden on the outside, just like the snow on the ground. Now it’s a real ice cap! All stabby and built by a strong attack—Ice is gonna look _so cool_.

Frisk uses their turn to place the cap on Ice. They give it a double thumbs-up and a wink. It looks very pleased with its new look; Frisk is satisfied, too.

“Cease your distractions! You, this is Official Royal Guard Business. Leave,” Sans shoos Ice Cap, scowling, and Ice Cap goes. Frisk waves goodbye.

As soon as Ice Cap is out of sight, Sans narrows his eyes at them. His grin remains, dark and dispassionate.

“Now we can do this in earnest,” he says. “How fortuitous that I happened to be here at the right time to catch you, human. Certainly my reputation precedes me, but I will remind you: The Malevolent Sans is known for honor and integrity in upholding Queen Toriel’s laws. I will allow you a fair duel before you die. Let us begin.”

The absolute barrage of attacks the follows is more like what Frisk was expecting—they manage to dodge the first wave, but a few bones of the second catch their SOUL. The familiar jarring pain alerts them to their lost HP.

Down to 6/20 already. They’re lucky those were glancing blows.

Frisk chooses MERCY.

Sans smiles maliciously. “Foregoing your attack? Fool. If you ACT as if I am no threat to you, I will make you regret your arrogance.” He tilts his head like he’d like to look down his nose at them, if he had one, and assesses them. “Already, you are struggling, and I will give you only one chance. Fight back, and let this be an equal duel, or I will cut you down as you flee. It does not matter to me how you die; but you should want to do it with some dignity.”

The bone attack barrage is easier to dodge, this time, and soon it’s clear to see why—it’s a mere (deadly) distraction, followed up by what must be a dozen of those huge skull lasers. Frisk dodges frantically, swerving between them.

As they’re forced to jump forward to dodge a blast from behind, Red Sans’s bone attack in their SOUL jostles a touch too close to their physical body, making another shallow cut in their sweater and shaving off another 1 HP. Frisk hunches their shoulders and hopes the Sans in front of them didn’t notice.

The shifting flames around his eye socket distract from it, but Frisk can see that Black Sans’s pupil isn’t expanding or contracting at all—and hasn’t since the FIGHT began. It might as well be made of glowing glass—his iris remains also steadily in the center of his eye socket, never moving or glancing away. Sans is focusing.

His attacks dissipate as he allows his turn to end. It’s Frisk’s turn now. If he was offended by MERCY…and he wants them to fight him…no, faking an attack would only work if they had a usable weapon. Maybe what he said about an ACT was a hint? Frisk tries to BEFRIEND.

 _Let’s be friends!_ they write in their notebook. They turn it around to show to him.

They think they see his pupil expand just a tiny bit as he glances at the notebook, but it vanishes as he snaps his gaze back to them.

Sans splutters and harrumphs like somebody’s offended grandpa—or like Real Papyrus, when he got high-strung about Sans’s sock habits. He makes an aimless, indignant gesture with his hands.

“What—no! I can’t be your friend! I’m going to kill you, human. Do you understand? You will die now, in this battle.” Sans’s eye goes even a touch colder and flatter, pupil shrinking as he refocuses. His magic flares up, and his next round of bone attacks appears, spinning around him. “Your death is necessary. If you refuse to honor our duel, then it shall be an execution.”

This Sans sure talks a lot. Is he stalling for something? Is he not actually very strong and just trying to scare Frisk? No, that can’t be it. Maybe he’s lonely?

Sans smiles blankly, utterly disconnected from any actual feeling—but he still makes the effort to smile at them.

“I bear no personal grudge against you, human. You have been a talented, if disrespectful, opponent, and we have no witnesses. I see no need for pointless cruelty in this—be a good human and cooperate, and I will endeavor to make your death as painless as possible.”

Frisk looks away from the smile and focuses on the eye. Somehow, this blank look is worse than the sharp, calculating intelligence that hid in Red Sans’s eye. There’s no love, no recognition in this opponent for them. _you’re a tool._ Not even that—they’re an inconvenience to be borne. An unpleasant experience that will soon be over, once he goes through the motions to end them. Black Sans is looking at Frisk and _refusing_ to see a person.

Frisk knows he’s better than that.

Frisk’s body goes hot for a moment, as blood screams in their ears and outside circumstances disappear and the world reduces to two individual points standing opposite one another. Snowdin is gone; Chara’s distant confusion and alarm vanish as if they never were. The world is dark, except for this. Except for them.

It’s Frisk, and Sans, and even as a stranger Frisk loves him _so much_ , and Sans and Papyrus are the first family they’ve ever had that they thought they might just get to keep, and they’re scared and they’re lonely and they _hate him_ for what he decided to do, and something is shuttered up behind his eyes as he’s decided he doesn’t love them back anymore.

Afternoons playing the Deadly Ball Game with his lazy encouragement and outrageous cheating. The morning Frisk came home and their shed had turned into a house overnight, and Sans was already making use of their brand new (from the dump) bed that he helped clean up and make a cool frame for, bellyaching about how kids are more work than they used to be while Papyrus yelled at him for laziness and ineptitude. The safety Frisk always, always felt at least a little bit when they turned around, hurt and scared, and saw their big brother’s lazy grin and sharp teeth bared at whatever was killing them. The quiet warmth when Sans came home and he would let his magic go and his two eyes would appear, only ever in private and only ever with Frisk and sometimes Papyrus.

Sans, holding them too tight and too close, saying, “you’re not making this easy on me, kiddo.”

Sans, giving them a last chance to turn around and go home—a last chance for mercy.

~~Sans, almost changing his mind.~~

Sans, who must have loved them sometime. He must have. Frisk just…can’t accept it any other way.

Sans, tossing them into the void with a witty quip and a careless chuckle and a light in his eye that borders on madness. Sans, stumbling and pushing them accidentally with round, surprised eyes, because he would never hurt them any other way than by mistake. Sans, celebrating and relaxed until he sees them falling and nearly crushes their hand trying to save them back to solid ground. Sans, puzzled smile melting into startlement as they practically make him push them down. Sans, Sans, Sans, in scenes that play in their head all the time, run over again and again and again, until each Sans slots neatly over the others and Frisk is _so scared_ they’ll lose track of his face and be left with just the shadowy figure that ripped everything from them.

Sans, a little shorter than usual, with his sharp teeth and the grim face that he makes when he’s trying to do a hard thing in the gentlest way possible. He doesn’t look like Red Sans in this moment—right now, he looks more like Blue.

He knows what he’s doing. He knows that they haven’t hurt him and he knows that they’re not going to. He knows that no matter how he tries to dress it up or outright deny it, this is cold-blooded murder.

And Frisk knows that Sans is not a bad person.

Sans falters. Something real touches his expression—surprise. Maybe it’s recognition as they keep their head up like Papyrus taught them, as they choose not to flinch like Shy Sans taught them, as they show him only what they want to show him: mercy and love and endless DETERMINATION. His hand nearly drops as they stand their ground and insist soundlessly, inescapably: _I am your youngest sibling, and you are my oldest brother, and you are not going to kill me. I refuse to let you kill me._

Frisk is not going to cooperate. They are not going to be a good human. They are not letting him kill them for his own convenience, or by necessity, or for any obscure Sans-reason he might have; they don’t care. Not today. Frisk has made up their mind—they are going to _live_. If Sans wants to change that, he’d better bring something better than laser monsters and bone attacks.

The first blast of light hits Frisk dead-on in their SOUL. Frisk can’t see Sans past the brightness that overwhelms them, but they stare insistently in his direction and refuse to flinch at the burn in their SOUL. They can feel their HP go down—five to four to three to two to one. They can feel their SOUL creak and begin to fracture.

Frisk REFUSES. Frisk re-fuses.

The cracks in their SOUL meld back together.

0.1/20 HP

Frisk cradles their hands around their SOUL and allows the attack in it to scratch at them and bloody their sweater. They refuse to take their eyes off where Sans must be. They REFUSE.

0.01/20 HP

The light dies down. Sans isn’t directing the attack anymore—he’s staring at the cracks that form and just as quickly seal in their SOUL, DETERMINATION shining bright. Without intent, bones scroll past them, some hitting when they refuse to dodge, some missing the encounter entirely.

REFUSE. REFUSE. REFUSE.

Sans blinks at them with an unreadable expression. His pupil has contracted to near-nonexistence. He looks like a person again.

It’s Frisk’s turn.

Sometimes, fleeing is the better MERCY. Frisk darts into the woods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not totally satisfied with the pacing in the first half of this chapter, but setting the scene in a new universe is always gonna take time. Except in Dancetale, for some reason? That one was quick and easy.
> 
> In any case, I'm pretty pleased with the last scene--next chapter is gonna have Black's brother's POV, stepping out of Frisk's narration for a moment to examine the ramifications of that fun scene. Let me know what you think!


	11. Conversely, Converse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can always try to talk things out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! I'm excited for this chapter :D I think it'll give you a good sense of the swapfell brothers in this story, where they came from and who they are now. Plus, SF Papyrus/Slim is a neat dude.
> 
>  **Briefing:** (not much to say here, so some fun facts)  
> Child support in the SF universe is really strong. Adopting orphans would be profitable if you weren't expected to spend every penny on their care and education.

Sans shows up early from human-hunting—he’s only been gone for two hours when he returns straight to his own room with the familiar sound of a shortcut.

“oh, no,” says Papyrus, lounging on his bed. “don’t look, i’m naked.”

He is, of course, fully clothed, and doodling in his sketchbook—he hasn’t left the house today, but Sans frets when he doesn’t at least change out of his pajamas. And he’s left his own bed to hang out on his brother’s, so, score. 10/10 functioning adult.

Besides, Sans’s bedroom is the most fortified room in the house, a concession to his shit HP and more prominent public position. If Papyrus is going to relax anywhere, it’s going to be here.

Sans barely tenses at all at the unexpected presence, sparing Papyrus a token Look for his tomfoolery but otherwise not breaking stride. He paces directly past his bed and to the wall, executes a picture-perfect 180 turn, and paces back. He’s already worked up.

“Infuriating,” Sans hisses.

It sounds like he’s already been at this for a while.

“met the human again?” Papyrus guesses. Well, it’s not much of a guess—it’s been a good, long while since anything has wound Sans up like the human child apparently squatting in the woods does. Sans wants to believe it’s wounded pride.

As if he was just waiting for the prompt—because he was, in fact, just waiting for the prompt—Sans whirls around, gesticulating emphatically.

“They’re infuriating! Totally…unsportsmanlike!” His eyes shine bright enough to rival the lamp that Papyrus is using to see his sketches. Papyrus looks back down at what he’s doing.

“mmhmm,” he says, beginning to shade in his photorealistic drawing of a bone attack. It’s good to remember what’s important in life.

“Can’t even die correctly!” Sans resumes pacing with intense fervor, making crisp, long strides and swift turns in the relatively small space.

“uh-huh,” says Papyrus.

“And what’s worse! They’re taunting me! Showing up all over, and—and playing _games_ as if they are not being hunted by the most terrifying monster in the Underground!” Sans spits the word _games_ like someone who doesn’t regularly sweep at poker with unholy smugness. It’s his great poker face that does it—no one but Papyrus can get anything out of that smile.

“that’s just crazy,” Papyrus says.

“This human—is so—AAAUGH!” Sans throws his hands in the air.

“mm, i bet,” says Papyrus. He needs to sharpen his pencils soon, but he wants to get the nice broad marks down first. Phalanges are terrible at smoothing out sharp pencil marks.

“I’m serious, brother!” If Sans had hair, he’d be tearing it out. “How the hell am I supposed to kill them if they won’t just die?”

Papyrus glances up from his project. Sans continues to pace furiously—up to the wall, whirl around, back to the other wall. He passes close enough that a slight breeze blows by Papyrus in either direction. Back and forth. He’s going to get dizzy if he keeps that up.

“…time travel again?” Papyrus asks.

At least, strongly suspected time travel. It’s difficult to prove that a person is a time-traveler if they don’t want to fess up, but it would take a miracle to dodge an entire round of Sans’s attacks. It’s almost easier to believe it’s time travel than to think the human is just that fast.

Sans shakes his head, though, bones beginning to clatter together in sheer frustration.

“Not even! I just! Can’t! Kill them!” He huffs. “I—the blasters _whine_ when I’m attacking them! They dodge my bone attacks! And then! Today! They’re rude, and stupid, and suicidal, and _difficult_ , and! It’s like they didn’t even— _UGH_!”

Sans rattles furiously for another moment, a symptom of his slow-growing, grudging respect for the human. Left to his own devices, Sans would make a few calls and nudge a few implications down some poor sucker’s throat and set them up to be adopted by a respectable family, because Sans is a soft touch when it comes down to it. He especially loves stubborn little hellions. It’s narcissism, through and through.

Sans isn’t left to his own devices, though, and they both know it. He’s going to kill the human or die trying, because he’s the greatest guy Papyrus knows, and he never breaks a promise. He said the Queen would never have to kill another human child—so she won’t. Unless another solution arises, the kid dies here.

Sans, though. Stars, is this tearing him up inside. Neither of them have ever, ever been asked to lay a finger on a child—it was a good bet that they never would be. At least, it was until now.

There are some lines that you just don’t cross. Papyrus and Sans live inside of those lines, cling to them like those fragile rules are the only things keeping them sane. _Don’t ever hurt kids_ is rule number two, following only _family is the most important_.

Sans seems a little calmer, having ranted a bit—Papyrus wouldn’t be surprised if he’s already taken an hour or two to blow up distant, non-populated parts of Snowdin’s forest just to blow off some steam. Of course, he’s still pacing—calm is relative, with Sans.

“I hit them with a full attack when they had 5 HP left,” Sans seethes. “They went down to .1 HP.”

…

“.1,” says Papyrus.

“.1 HP,” Sans confirms. “That’s just _cheating_.”

Or Sans has entirely lost the will to kill them.

This is the first face-to-face encounter Sans has had with them. He’s been trying to get this done as quickly and impersonally as possible, because killing a lost child is something that drags on both of them. Sans can harden his heart if he needs to—he’s killed friends and relative innocents before to keep them safe, and Papyrus has done the same—but…children are supposed to be off-limits. They’ve never had to prepare for this. Even with the human’s SOUL collected and all of monsterkind saved, this is going to be one of the kills that wakes Sans up at night.

Papyrus wishes his brother would let him help, but he knows that it would only make it worse in the long run—Sans would never in a million years forgive himself if Papyrus were the one to gain LOVE for killing a lost little kid. Then they’d both be miserable.

Sans’s plan is that he’ll kill the kid and Papyrus can help him pick up the pieces when it kills him inside. Papyrus gets to handle the next horrible, traumatic torture/betrayal/murder/whatever they need to do.

Stars, it isn’t even supposed to be _possible_ to get below 1 HP. Decimals? What’s the point of having 1 HP if it doesn’t mean you’re on your last legs? Is the kid just gonna Fall Down in the woods now?

None of this is anything Sans hasn’t thought of, though. As Papyrus watches, his phalanges twitch like he’s itching to kill something just for the sake of proving he can. Dangerous. In a mood like this, he’s only going to hurt himself.

“…my scarf tore,” Papyrus says, eventually. “the blue one.”

Sans’s eyes dart to the immaculate gray scarf that Papyrus is wearing now, and then to his chest where Sans can see that his stats are fine. “How? When was this?”

Despite Papyrus’s total health and safety, Sans is immediately prepared to fly off the handle in overprotective rage. He’s really off his game today—the thing with the human must have shaken him. Understandably. Papyrus is secondhand rattled himself.

“nobody attacked me. i was just careless lookin’ through the dump the other day. got it snagged.” Papyrus looks evenly at his brother, tilting his head a little. _little extreme there, bro. you wanna be done with the crazy for today?_

Sans relents.

“Very well, you shall have a replacement. Warm or fashionable?” He kneels next to the bed and starts rooting around beneath it, looking for his treasured yarn stash and the bone needles they’ve painstakingly carved.

“ooh, do the skull pattern again, that one was fun,” Papyrus cheers, just to be a shit. The skull pattern was the cause of no end of bitching while Sans was designing it, because Sans hates not being a genius prodigy who’s right all the time in any singular aspect of his life. It’s good for him.

Sans comes up from under the bed solely to narrow his eyes at Papyrus, mock-resentful. “FINE. A simple task for a skeleton of my skill,” he sniffs haughtily.

“you’re the coolest,” Papyrus agrees, and Sans accepts that as his due, going back to root under the bed again. Papyrus turns back to his drawing.

Sans returns with a soft, smooth indigo yarn that he bartered/threatened aggressively for a while back. He’s been saving it for a special occasion or a really fucked up assignment. This is the latter, probably.

The gestures of knitting start out stabby and aggressive, still crouched like a weird bony goblin on the floor, and Papyrus hears the yarn break. He hums a bit, and Sans huffs, settling himself at the foot of the bed instead. Unhinged-killer-Sans stands down for angry-cat-Sans.

“Move your legs,” he grumbles, nudging them out of the way with the world’s gentlest irritated kick. His eyelights narrow in concentration as he deliberately slows down, each movement intentional, and tries again to cast on.

Sans may not know how to chill for four seconds put together—and frankly, short of a Really Bad Day, neither does Papyrus—but he has excellent self-control. He’ll be fine in a bit.

Papyrus grabs his smudging stump. It’s a rolled-up piece of paper that serves better than bare bone to even out his pencil strokes without getting graphite all over his gloves. He settles in to wait.

* * *

Papyrus loses track of time while he’s working on his drawing. It’s been at least an hour by the time he gets to adding the little detail highlights, and Sans is deigning to slouch like a normal person against the wall. The scarf looks pretty cool so far, but it’s so tightly knit that an hour has yielded less than a finger’s length of cloth. Sans is really looking to occupy himself.

The trapped, directionless fury of before seems to have been contained, though. That’s good. It’s why they’ve picked up hobbies like this—better to furiously stab or scribble for a few hours than scream at each other when tensions get high. With personalities like Sans’s and Papyrus’s, and with the world they live in, that could be constant screaming matches. Papyrus’s imaginary blood pressure couldn’t handle that.

Papyrus has been thinking, though. About this human that Sans can’t kill.

Now’s as good a time as any to ask.

“you want me to try?” he offers, apropos of nothing.

Sans glances up from his work to where Papyrus is looking over his shoulder, laying on his stomach and still sketching. The worst of the tightly-controlled tension is gone from his expression, leaving just Papyrus’s brother, unwinding after a rough day at work.

Unwinding. Like how he’s unwinding his yarn ball to knit. There could be a pun made there.

Sans has infected Papyrus with his terrible, awful sense of humor. There’s no saving him anymore. No, worse—he was doomed from the start.

Sans glances back at the started scarf.

“You want to try? You’re terrible at knitting,” he says. Papyrus flips over and scoots back to sit against the headboard.

“i’m fine,” he says mildly. He just doesn’t have the patience for it. “i was talking about the human, though.”

He doesn’t think he’s imagining the hint of relief in the slump of Sans’s shoulders. Still, Sans is compelled to argue: “You? Try killing the human? We have no idea of their abilities. All we know is that they are impossibly fast, or more likely, they are a time traveler. And now, they’re just—immune to death. Apparently.”

Sans hisses as he misses a stitch. Papyrus watches him unravel until he can pick it back up again, more gently this time. More controlled.

That’s the thing, though, isn’t it? The human is immune to death. They’re a time traveler. And Sans has made it no secret that he’s dead-set on killing them. That’s it, for information Sans and Papyrus have; and it doesn’t paint a pretty picture for the two of them. Except…

“we know they haven’t killed you yet,” Papyrus offers.

Sans winds his yarn very slowly, and very carefully, glancing up at Papyrus. He’s listening.

“if they’re a time traveler, and they can’t die…shouldn’t they just be able to try again until they find a way to kill you?” Papyrus muses. “you just wouldn’t have come home this afternoon. it’s what we would do, if we were them.”

Sans tilts his head, acknowledging the point even as he winces at the thought. Neither of them look forward to the day that one of them just doesn’t come home. It’s a risk they take, living how they do, but not one they relish.

And yet, Sans didn’t die today.

Sans has probably thought of this already, too, going by the troubled flicker in his eyes. He’s thought something that he doesn’t particularly like. Papyrus can read shame on his brother, sure as stone.

It never feels right to kill someone who won’t fight back.

“i’m just saying,” Papyrus just-says. “maybe there’s another way to do this. i could try and find out.”

Sans’s hands tighten and loosen on the knitting needles, torn between channeling into his distraction and tossing it aside so he can pace again.

“I have to kill the human,” he says, finally. It’s not a no.

“do you?” Papyrus asks, sharp as butter.

Sans’s eyes dart to him, sharp as knives. “You know I do. I promised—”

“you promised the queen she wouldn’t have to kill another child, and you’d bring her the next human soul. you didn’t say you’d kill a kid. couldn’t we just…wait?” Papyrus says.

Sans narrows his eyes. “If I didn’t know you better, I would think you’re suggesting something reprehensible.”

The ghost of an idea hovers over their conversation—Malicious Graduation. The act of declaring a child’s maturity prematurely just so that it will be legal to kill them. After all, there are no laws against killing another adult; even if that ‘adult’ should have been in stripes for a good, long time yet.

Giving the kid to some family with the sole intent of waiting until they’re out of stripes and then killing them would be several steps up from Malicious Graduation. It would still be a deeply heinous crime that would scar both of them forever and send their LOVE shooting to astronomical levels. It would be cold-blooded murder with years of friendliness to sharpen the blow. It’s something Papyrus would never propose unless he were desperate, and Sans knows him well enough to know that they haven’t reached that point.

Hell, Papyrus doesn’t even like killing people who are outright evil; it’s just something he trades off with Sans because it has to be done. It’s like doing the dishes, if dishes were psychologically scarring and put lasting damage on the SOUL.

“nah,” Papyrus confirms for Sans, just as a reassurance. “nothin’ like that. i’m just thinkin’, we don’t need to kill them. humans get old and die on their own, right? can’t be more than a century or two. they get a long, happy life; we get a soul. drinks all around.”

“You want me to twiddle my thumbs until the human just drops dead,” Sans deadpans. The idea is ticking away in his head, though. Papyrus can see it. He just needs to tip the scales.

“well, i’d hate to be down a brother when the human decides it’s you or them,” he says mildly. He doesn’t look away from Sans.

Sans softens. Of course he does. He puts his knitting down and looks back at Papyrus.

“I’m not going to die, Papy,” he says, with such confidence that Papyrus almost believes him.

“sure,” Papyrus says, keeping eye contact. “do you promise?”

Sans breaks first and looks away.

That’s not a promise he can make, and they both know it.

“…I do not think that the human will kill me,” Sans says, finally. The frustration from earlier is back in the clicking of his spine as his shoulders tense and his posture threatens to straighten out defensively.

Papyrus would be real money that the human didn’t even try to attack him. He wouldn’t feel this bad about the whole thing if they did. Nah, it was just their luck to get the nice human who wouldn’t make it easy to put them down.

Still, ‘I don’t think they’ll kill me’ is a pretty big statement in this context. Papyrus can count on one finger the number of people that Sans trusts not to kill him, given a strong enough motivation. He can count on one hand how many people Sans trusts not to kill him even without motivation. And this human has ample reason to think that their life would be easier with Sans dead.

After all, they don’t know what Papyrus would do to them if they killed his brother. They don’t know that Papyrus exists.

Something is bothering Sans, though. Probably the same something that kept him from killing the kid; the thing that’s keeping him open to finding a workaround somehow. “something happen today?”

Sans glares at the corner of the room. Papyrus glances at it, but it’s just some piled-up socks. As much as Sans wants to look clean-pressed and tidy, he’s kind of a slob at home. If Papyrus weren’t around to look after him, he’d live in filth with a single clean corner for his uniforms.

Sans picks his knitting back up. He works at it for another long moment, pulling together the right words. Sans is only a smooth talker in public.

He looks tired, all of a sudden. Tired and much older than his years.

Eventually, Sans says, “Do you remember my first kills?”

Of course. It’s a day neither of them like to think about; necessary but painful. Papyrus remembers Sans whipping around to face him, his eye wild and sparking even as the dust settled around him like a gentle, awful snow. He remembers thinking, _but sans hates violence_ , and _he must hurt so bad right now_.

A whole sea of bone attacks scattered into dust as Papyrus walked through them, then, because his brother looked so lost and scared and not quite there, and all Papyrus knew in that moment was that Sans needed him. Papyrus remembers that.

Sans’s eyes are distant now, too, but not sharp like they were then. They’re hazy and they droop in his sockets like they can’t quite hold themselves up.

“i remember,” Papyrus says. His brother returns to him, focusing in again. The repetitive motions of yarn and needle start up again. The moment of inattention will pass by without remark; Papyrus is here to watch their backs while Sans thinks. Just like everything else; they take it in shifts.

“That day, I…” Sans has spoken about it before, of course, but it’s always going to be painful. “You gave me a very important look, that day.”

According to Sans, Papyrus gave him a lot of very important things that day, but they all tend to circle back to the same thing.

“‘s ‘cause i wasn’t afraid of you?” Papyrus prompts. Sans nods, focusing intently on his hands before he glances up again. His expression is fierce.

“You had faith in me,” he says simply. “I did what I had to do with everyone else,” that is, murder, “and then, when I turned around, you still knew how to…find me, in the dust. You still know who I am, as if all of the LOVE in the Underground could not change me.”

It’s the foundation of Sans and Papyrus’s unusual lifestyle—love, faith, restraint, and a tenacious drive towards peace, even as their world pulls them away from it. Sans can be a little dramatic about it, because that’s who Sans is; but pulling each other back from the giddy, furious peak of LOVE is as much a part of them as bones or dust or magic. It’s a tightrope walk that will last them the rest of their lives.

It has to.

Sans’s LOVE does not make him powerful. Sans’s LOVE makes him hurt. It’s the same for Papyrus. He’s always had a theory that a monster’s stats increase with LOVE because their magic is attempting to protect them—give them more DEF and HP so that they can survive without resorting to something as heartrending as killing; give them ATK so that they can be powerful enough to survive offering MERCY, or just intimidate folks into leaving them be.

It’s just a thought, of course. But it’s a thought that Sans and Papyrus like, so it’s one they keep.

All of that is only indoors, though. Only between the two of them, in their trapped-to-hell and obsessively-guarded house, where they can be sure that they’re safe from everyone outside. Outside, Sans is strict and demanding and _loud_ , the terror that stomps on monsters’ last breaths. Papyrus is silent and watchful and inescapable, always there in a whisper, leaving dust and secrets in his wake. They’re the Skeleton Brothers, the Two-Headed Monster, the enforcer of the Queen’s rule and the enforcer of Sans’s. Outside of this single safe place, LOVE is survival.

“I think the human knows, too,” says Sans.

That’s not possible.

And yet, Sans said it, so it is. Sans knows people. Sans can read people with uncanny accuracy, and not just because he can see their stats. If Sans says that the human knows, then Papyrus has to consider that maybe the human knows.

“how?” Papyrus asks.

Sans breathes evenly and focuses intently.

“I don’t know,” he says. “I don’t know.”

Papyrus watches him, waiting to see if there’s a follow-up to that. Sans finishes his row and starts the next one.

In the end, Sans’s meticulous nature wins out—even if he’s not sure what to think about it yet, information is information and he wants Papyrus to have as much as possible. Any edge on an encounter could save your life or doom you.

“I went out to check the traps, and I took a shortcut,” Sans says. Papyrus blinks—Sans abhors unnecessary shortcuts. He thinks they’re lazy. Then again, Sans hates wasted time, too, and the trip out to the Ruins door is long.

“I came out and the human was already in an…interaction, with Ice,” he continues. His eyes narrow. “It was not a FIGHT. They appeared to be making it a hat.”

Yeah, that’s a weird little human. Maybe one of Sans’s attacks hit their head.

“The encounter was strange from the beginning. They did not attack. I offered them a chance to FIGHT for their life, and they refused. I offered them a swift and painless execution, and again, they refused. They wasted their turn playing with snow sculptures and asking if we could be…‘friends.’” Sans’s voice holds the word as if it’s some unknown and possibly-gross thing, even though Papyrus knows he’s friends with Alphys, at least, and with Queen Toriel, as much as a Queen can have friends.

“uh. how old is this human, exactly?” It sounds like they might just be too young to understand what’s happening…but if that were true, they wouldn’t have been able to dodge Sans’s first ambush outside of the Ruins door, would they? Are they just stupidly lucky?

Sans shakes his head. “I can’t be certain. Old enough to know better. Obviously, they’re still in stripes, so perhaps they’ve survived this long off of innate charm fooling others into thinking that they are not a human…but they are old enough to understand what I wanted. I’m sure of it.”

Papyrus can practically hear Sans’s thoughts whirring around his head.

“They offered MERCY,” Sans says. “To myself and to Ice. Then they asked to be friends. In return, I offered to make their death painless, if they would comply.”

It’s MERCY from Sans. It’s all he can offer the kid—sit tight and at least it won’t hurt. There’s no monster in the Underground better suited to offer a MERCY-killing than Sans, with his tendency towards overkill and his reluctance to drag things out and torture people.

Yarn twines around Sans’s phalanges, kept in place but not tight, as he thinks. “They were not compliant.”

Papyrus keeps quiet and lets Sans work through it. Sans shifts in place and tries another tactic.

“You know that I am not at my best when I am completing an unpleasant assignment,” Sans says. Papyrus nods. Every time, it looks like his SOUL has died, and Papyrus is afraid that some day he won’t get it back.

Whatever Sans is trying to say must be pretty rough, for him to circumspect through it like this. Sure, Sans is never straightforward when he can help it, but this is some high-level circuitous bullshit. Papyrus braces himself.

“The human took one of my attacks without attempting to dodge. The look on their face…if I didn’t know better, I would think that they trusted me.” Sans hates when people trust him, because it makes it hard for him to justify killing them. He’ll do it, sure, but it’ll hurt. It always ends in quiet, sobbing nightmares that he pretends Papyrus can’t hear.

So the kid somehow got a good first impression of Sans, even when he was arguably at his worst. At least, his worst in an everyday context.

“they musta felt pretty disappointed when you hit ‘em anyway,” Papyrus guesses.

Sans shakes his head, though. “They didn’t.”

They trusted Sans, didn’t dodge his attack, and weren’t upset that he was still trying to kill them?

“do they just wanna die, then?” Papyrus asks. That would be pretty depressing. How old is this kid?

Sans shakes his head to that one, too. “They want to live. They have an impressive amount of DETERMINATION.”

If he’s complimenting the kid, chances of getting out of this unattached are already gone. All the more reason to do this Papyrus’s way.

“I think…” Sans says slowly, testing it out, “…that is. If I did not know better, I would think that the human knew that my assignment was…ethically upsetting…and simply chose not to die. They immediately fled, after that, and did not try to convince me to be friends with them again.”

That would take a level of cold-reading and emotional complexity that’s, frankly, a little terrifying in a child. No one but Papyrus can tell that some of Sans’s assignments hurt to complete. Few people would care—what does it matter if your executioner spends nights awake after you’re dead, remembering how your dust got all over his joints and his clothes as he wore it through town? No one wants to realize that their killer is a person, too, who’s just doing his job. No one ever wants to make that job easier.

And yet. The human can often be heard distantly, laughing breathlessly as they skip through Sans’s traps, but they can never quite be found. The human’s first reaction on leaving the Ruins was to go to Glyde’s territory, where not even the Queen would expect Sans to go to complete an assignment. The human hasn’t shown up in town, where Sans would have to kill them or be publicly seen failing at his job, if word were to get out that they are, in fact, a human. Whispers in dark corners of Snowdin say that the human is happy enough to be mocked and tormented, but they haven’t killed anyone. They made a hat for Ice.

Maybe they’re stupid. Or maybe they’re just too young for hate.

Well. Papyrus pokes some things into place, pushing around his mental image of the human until it clicks. Not just a lucky survivor, but a lucky survivor who sees the best in people. Someone who wants to have a positive impact. Someone capable of empathizing with the crazybones skeleton that’s trying to kill them, to the point where they can reach right behind his mask and pull out the person inside.

No wonder Sans was shaken. This kid’s just like him.

“welp,” Papyrus says. “that’s sure something.”

“It’s goddamned inconvenient, is what it is,” Sans agrees. “So. What is your suggestion, if not killing them until they die?”

Papyrus thinks for a second, but his thoughts don’t actually need much recalibration for this new information. It might make things a little easier, if anything, that the human isn’t totally closed off to the idea of being peaceful with monsters. He’s heard that they’ve already made a few friends around town. The dogs are already pacified, which is a pretty solid starting point.

Still. As much as he trusts Sans’s take on the situation, there’s nothing like seeing it firsthand. Recon has gotta be the first step.

“let me talk to ‘em, try to get a sense of what they want,” he says.

Sans inclines his head—granted. “And then?”

“we’ll see what i can get from ‘em. maybe they’re just a chill little dude,” Papyrus suggests. You never know.

Sans gets The Look.

“no,” Papyrus says preemptively, but it’s too late. Sans has already thought of the pun. Holding it in now would just make it come back later, when the timing is gone and it’s not even a little funny anymore.

“I am certain that they’re pretty ‘chill’ by now; I think they’re sleeping outdoors.” Sans’s smile reaches his eyes, which dance with glee as Papyrus groans. Papyrus turns and buries his face in Sans’s pillow even though that one wasn’t that bad; it’s the principle of the thing. He can’t let Sans think he’s going to get away with his shitty jokes. Not even once, or an avalanche will follow.

He can feel Sans’s anticipation at his back, but he’s not giving in. There will not be a chuckle. Papyrus is a skeleton with one singular standard, and that standard is that his sense of humor is not totally trash like his brother’s.

“being related to you is a burden,” Papyrus tells the pillow.

“A brr-den?” Sans’s shit-eating grin is audible. Papyrus hates everything. He turns back around to glare at his brother.

“ _anyway_ ,” Papyrus says, “maybe the human isn’t an evil little gremlin who exists only to frustrate you. must be nice not having one of those.”

He fishes his pencil and sketchpad out of the comforter. He’s going to doodle a little human child tying Sans’s shoelaces together, because he is a mature and responsible adult who responds that well to teasing.

Sans’s smugness knows no bounds. Asshole. He’s Papyrus’s favorite person.

The showlace drawing is still going on the fridge, though.

“so. if they’re not a little bastard goblin,” Papyrus gives Sans his own Look, perfected over years of his brother’s increasingly broken sense of humor, “maybe they’re alright with just…hanging out some, you know? nobody around here knows they’re human yet, right? if nobody gets a close look, we might be able to keep it that way.”

It’s a bit of a long shot, but the kid’s done alright so far. The more people keep interacting with them, the more they’ll establish themself as a part of the background. Easy enough to slip under the radar once nobody’s looking at them as the new kid anymore, hopefully. Once they’re a part of the general makeup of Snowdin’s child population, they’ll be safe as anything. Sans runs a tight ship—no one in stripes is gonna get hurt in Snowdin proper.

The outwoods where the crazies live is another story. The kid will have to stop sleeping in the snow.

“They’ll need to be adopted or emancipated,” Sans says. It’ll be on everyone’s head if they’re not—no child is without a guardian. Ever.

Papyrus shrugs. The ‘people’ aspect is Sans’s bag; Papyrus just hears things.

“maybe someone’ll be up for taking ‘em in. maybe we set ‘em up with a house in snowdin and give ‘em a flare so they can call us if they run into trouble. either way, not like they’re gonna die on us, right? we just need to be close enough to walk in and grab their soul if somebody does manage to kill ‘em, or wait for ‘em to die in their own time. i bet they cooperate better with sans, their buddy who gave them a home, than sans, crazy bastard who tries to kill them for no reason. say you got off on the wrong foot or something,” Papyrus proposes.

Sans looks hilariously affronted. “You want _me_ to make friends with the human???” He’s nearly clutching his pearls.

Papyrus shrugs, because seeing his bro lose his cool is always funny. It’s not like Sans couldn't guess where this idea was going. Besides, “you don’t gotta be besties, but it looks like killing them might be off the table.”

Tick, tick, tick. The idea mulls over and Sans picks through his stitches. Does he want to not kill the kid or does he want to do his job to the letter?

Normally, this problem would have an easy answer—kill the kid and deal with the fallout later. But if the kid can’t be killed, who could possibly expect Sans to keep his word on killing them? And if they’re in Snowdin under his eye, he can be sure they don’t do something he’ll regret. All perfectly justifiable reasons to spare himself the LOVE.

Sans is resistant to offering himself MERCY; even as practical as he is, he’s never liked taking the easy way out. Still, he’s wavering as he says, “This would be a betrayal to my promise to the Queen.”

Before Papyrus can point out that _technically_ it’s not, Sans adds, “Perhaps not in its words, but in its spirit.”

Damn Sans’s sense of honor. It keeps them on the straight and narrow, more or less, but it’s a pain to work around sometimes.

In addition to, you know, being the most reassuring thing in the whole world. Sans won’t let them do anything really heinous, so Papyrus never has to worry about getting lost. As long as he can keep Sans’s honor from biting him in the coccyx like it is now.

“look,” Papyrus says, “just let me check ‘em out, ok? maybe i’ll meet ‘em and decide they need to die. worst case scenario, we come out with a little more information on the other end.”

Sans wants him to be onto something—he wants to so bad Papyrus can feel it. But even as, ah, _forceful_ as Sans’s personality is—it’s not optimism if you’ll allow no outcome but the best—hope is something he struggles with.

“…not everything has a peaceful solution, Papy,” Sans says, finally. Quietly. A callback to a brighter and more optimistic pair of brothers.

“and not everything has to end in fire and dust. let me try,” Papyrus insists, as gently as he’s able.

Sans would never really stop him. He’ll argue and bitch about it and menace and snap at anybody who gets too close for his liking, but in the end, if Papyrus really thinks this is the right thing to do, Sans will back him every step of the way.

There are plenty of folks who have a younger sibling, a child, an adoptee, a total stranger; someone that’s kept under their wing, shut up in a basement somewhere where they’ll be safe and protected as they slowly turn to dust. Some mix between a ward and a pet, never allowed out, never allowed to live their own life as they’re kept safe on a shelf. Papyrus has seen one or two of those monsters, set adrift after their keepers die.

Glyde is the sanest survivor of it that Papyrus has ever seen, hiding in the woods and killing anyone who looks at him even for a second like they might attempt to restrain him or guide him. That monster’s mind was broken long before he was ever in ‘danger.’

Sans hates stuff like that. He hates it with a _passion_. He’d happily burn, melt, or eat any lock in the Underground, if it meant nobody was ever glassy-eyed and going crazy behind closed doors again. Despite himself, Sans loves their people and can’t stand for suffering to exist in his kingdom.

So even though Sans doesn’t love the idea of Papyrus meeting up with the unkillable human of unknown intent, he doesn’t try to tell Papyrus no. He doesn’t ever try to protect him like that, by keeping him secret and manipulating him into staying ‘safe.’

Instead, Sans says, “Very well. Your insight would be appreciated. What can I do to help?”

 _I don’t love it, but I trust your judgement. If you think I’ve missed something, I believe you. Let me support you. I’m sure my faith in you will be justified if I give you a chance._ It’s nothing Sans hasn’t said before, but it hits Papyrus with enough love to kill him every time.

It takes a lot of courage to let someone else take the reins. Sure, choosing what to eat and which NTT channel to watch is one thing, but letting someone you love walk into a strange and potentially dangerous situation all on their lonesome just because you love them too much to take that choice away from them, and you trust them to come out alright on the other side…

Damn, Papyrus loves his brother. What a cool guy.

Something of his thoughts must show up to Sans’s eerily accurate face-interpretation, because Sans softens a bit, too. Pride is an expression that settles comfortably on him—Sans has been proud of Papyrus since he could walk, and proud of himself for longer.

Papyrus smiles back. “great. just do what you’ve been doing. maybe less murder? but don’t disappear on ‘em, either—we don’t want them thinking this is just the next tactic.” Even though it kind of is the next tactic. “don’t mention me. they haven’t met me yet, so they don’t know we’re related. i’ll chat with ‘em for a bit, see what i can get with the friendly approach. if they seem alright, you can put out some feelers, see if anyone’s looking for a kid. someone discreet. or if there’s a place for rent and we can set ‘em up as an independent ward, or something. you can do the legal stuff.”

“I can,” Sans confirms. “I’ll start looking. And if I do manage to kill them in the meantime, I’ll bring their SOUL to the Queen. I’ll not break my promise for lack of trying.”

Not that Sans will really be trying. Papyrus would bet his last G that Sans’s next encounter with the human reads more like a training match, feeling out how well they can protect themself in order to place them with the best possible family. Little scrap’s already earned his respect—Sans is invested now.

Welp. One more kiddo to slip a couple of discreet G to at Gyftmas and check up on when they’ve got the time. Sans has always liked strays.

…just as soon as Papyrus can make a good first impression. How do you get kids to like you, again?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter pairs pretty well with the first chapter of [Red's backstory](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25500997/chapters/61864519). I think you can see pretty clearly where two or three key decisions have diverged, leaving two very different skeleton households in somewhat similar worlds. For someone who literally only reads/writes happy endings (seriously, one deathfic and I'll sob like a baby every time), I sure love me a tragedy.
> 
> There was supposed to be another scene in this chapter, but hoo boy can Black take up a chapter all on his own. Actually, this chapter originally went much differently, but someone pointed out that Frisk showed a lot of faith in Black, for a stranger, and that would kinda shake a guy who lives in Murderworld. And you know what, I thought about it and that's a way more compelling direction than where I was going originally. Hell yeah. This version of the chapter is kind of softer, but I like it way better.
> 
> Next chapter...Frisk meets their newest local Papyrus!


	12. Holding Pattern

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Red and Blueberry theorize. Papyrus is learning a lot, about a lot of things. 
> 
> Somewhere else, Frisk holds on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya! We get into some of the metaphysics behind the story this chapter--quite a bit of shop talk interspersed with character stuff. Hopefully y'all can see a little bit of why things are happening the way they are.
> 
> If you take one look at the word "metaphysics" and your eyes cross, that's okay, too! It's been a good, long while since I was in physics, so I made sure the technical understanding of the situation isn't vital to the storyline. I'd still recommend reading through both parts of this chapter, since there are some important character things going on, but it's totally alright to ask for clarification or just shrug off anything that's confusing. If you need to know something to understand the story, it'll be stated clearly as a fact, either now or when it becomes important.

Things Papyrus has learned about the universe:

  * there’s more than one universe;
  * he lives in the best one, and possibly the only one where his brother isn’t either an asshole or a raging lunatic; and
  * despite his best efforts, “red” can’t actually harm anyone in another universe (so probably no one else can, either).



Things he’s learned about ~~Sans~~ “Blueberry,” his brother:

  * he takes the nickname thing very seriously;
  * he’s way, way smarter than people give him credit for (papyrus already knew that); and
  * he really, really, _really_ needs to find frisk, dead or alive. 
    * look, papyrus was a little spooked for a bit there, alright? sans doesn’t _do_ listless and depressed. if looking for and eventually finding frisk is what gets his brother out of that and gives him hope again, papyrus will take the damned multiverse apart himself. sans can’t get that bad ever again. it’s what sans would do for him. and besides, papyrus really doesn’t want the kid to be gone either. it’s been kind of a shit month or so.
    * admittedly, right now, helping with getting frisk back mostly looks like studying hard and watching his brother and red spitball the same information back and forth with new interpretations each time. hopefully once he can catch up with the two local interdimensional genius scientists, he can actually help some.



Finally, things Papyrus has learned about “Red”:

  * he’s categorically incapable of using people’s real names;
  * his brother is either dead or…yeah, probably just dead (maybe recently?); and
  * he’s willing to do or say literally anything to get what he wants. the guy’s got absolutely no moral limits. 
    * which might be why his universe’s papyrus is conveniently “not home right now” and “fine” and “will be back later” every time they call. Including at six in the morning, when Papyrus wouldn’t be out of bed for love nor money, much less out of the house.



Now. Taken separately, some of these facts are good and some are bad. Honestly, Papyrus would probably get stressed out about the bad ones and avoid them forever, take the good ones as a blessing, and leave it at that, if he could. But he can’t do that. He can’t afford to sit this out anymore.

There are two people depending on him—Frisk is MIA, obviously, and the light in Blueberry’s eyes has come back but it’s fragile. Papyrus worries that he could turn his back for a second and it could gutter out.

He’s not stupid, not when it comes to his brother, and he sees that Sans is holding on with both hands to whatever hope they can foster between the two of them. Papyrus needs to shelter that hope until Sans is back on his feet again. He has to be the one to look out for them, this time.

That alone is terrifying enough. Papyrus has never totally succeeded in a single responsibility, ever, in his life. But that’s not all: equally stressful is the fact that Red could not be more of a shady asshole if he _tried_.

And Sans— _Blueberry_ insists on trusting the guy, of course, because he trusts everybody. So Papyrus has to keep an eye socket on things. Just in case.

Red is just proving to be infuriatingly slippery to catch in a lie.

Papyrus tries not to be the kind of guy to get worked up about things, but Red’s facts line up just enough to be coherent, and he doesn’t give them an ounce of information that they don’t absolutely need, so Papyrus can’t prove that he’s contradicting himself. But there’s something about him—maybe just the uncanny valley effect, but maybe something more—that Papyrus can’t trust.

Maybe it’s just that, while Red can’t actually attack them, the guy’s clearly a basket case. A basket case with Sans’s smarts, but none of his patience or sane tactical reasoning. Maybe his world broke something in him or maybe he’s just the version of Sans that isn’t _Sans_ , but he has moments of coldness that give Papyrus chills. Casual, stark reminders that he’s the type to look after his people first, at any cost to the rest of the world. To any world.

It reminds Papyrus of the moment after Frisk, _his friend_ , vanished right before his eye sockets, and his first thought was _they’re all going to blame sans_.

That part of himself scares him a little, sometimes, privately—he can’t stand to see it in Sans. It’s not right.

Uncanny valley—Red has Sans’s face and Papyrus’s worst fears wrapped up in one unpredictable, violent package. And Blueberry just as clearly wants Red to be a good guy, for obscure Sans reasons and because he’s just a nicer person than Papyrus.

Look, Papyrus believes that even the very worst person can change, if they just try. He does. It’s what Blueberry believes, and it’s something that Papyrus respects more than almost anything else about his brother. He tries to hold that ideal close to his heart as much as he can, because it’s important to him. People can be good, always, if they’re just willing to try.

It’s just that Red isn’t trying.

Oh, he’s clearly trying to do _something_ , sure. But Papyrus doesn’t think for a moment that it’s for anyone’s benefit but Red’s, and he won’t let himself forget that Red is using them.

Maybe Blueberry is right and it’s benign, or straight-up the only way Red knows how to treat people who are friendly and don’t want to kill him, but Papyrus has no doubt that he’d screw them over for his own benefit if it ever came to that. He’d do it in a second.

Still. Red knows more science than Papyrus and he’s less rusty than Blueberry, so they need him as much as he needs them. More, maybe, since they can’t afford to waste time playing catch-up with their skills on the off chance that Frisk really is stranded somewhere. So here they are, again, Blue and Red going over every scrap of information they have while Papyrus hovers and waits for the moment when Red shows his true colors.

Or for the moment he can be helpful. Either way.

It's like the world’s weirdest Skype call between estranged cousins. Who just so happen to be colleagues, sort of? Estranged colleagues. Or maybe a prison interview, except the serial killer is also maybe a PhD (or should be) and they’re all on a weird space-time-y rescue mission of questionable motives.

Or it’s like Sans talking to his evil twin about science stuff. It’s a lot like that, actually.

“right. so—chronologically, from the top,” Red says, glaring at some papers on his end of the machine.

Blueberry squints in concentration at his own copy of the metatimeline, because apparently a regular timeline wouldn’t work on account of time travel. Which is something Frisk can just do. Apparently.

Seems like they could have avoided falling out of the world if they were a time traveler, but Blueberry did some readings that Papyrus is still trying to learn how to interpret and said that they’re probably maybe a time traveler, or else someone else is and that person stopped time traveling after the Barrier broke, which is also possible but doesn’t make sense because something something DETERMINATION. Red just did his cagey bastard thing and said he didn’t know anything, so it’s hard to say.

Papyrus is learning fast, but he can’t catch up to years of specialized learning overnight. He’s gotta just make a leap of faith on some things because Blueberry says they’re true, and one of those things is apparently _time travel being real_.

It’s actually a huge step up from his previous leap-of-faith, defying-all-evidence belief, which was _Sans wouldn’t kill someone_. And he was right about that one, so basically, score one for blind faith. And time travel is probably real.

“Okay, so, starting out, we have Frisk in your universe,” Blueberry taps the top of the paper. “You sent them to ours after you guys got into trouble and they got hurt.”

There’s a little impact doodle of a battle, or maybe an explosion, with a human careening out of it on an arrow mark that Blueberry traces with his finger. It goes through a shattered wall and then lands on the circle marked “US.”

There are a couple of notes next to the fight, which Blueberry comes back to.

“Since there was a misunderstanding, Frisk was probably trying not to leave. We don’t know if they tried to time travel or not, which could have done something…maybe they made a checkpoint at the moment they fell, then they tried to go back and they couldn’t? Then things tried to happen the same way because of the checkpoint, so they fell out of our world in sort of the same way they left yours?” Blueberry says.

Red’s expression is unchanging to Papyrus’s eyes, just frowning in concentration as he follows along. Blueberry could probably get a better read on him, but Blueberry is busy with the metatimeline.

“Or, since you were using your magic, there could be a mistake in intent. Your magic doesn’t realize that its intent is accomplished, so it reaches out to the closest match—me—and tries to keep doing what you sent it to do—send Frisk far away. When the Barrier falls, your magic tries to send them somewhere else even farther. Since they’ve lost multiversal inertia, your magic looks for a boost in momentum and tries to recreate the p-push into the next world.” Sans’s voice barely wavers, even though his right hand is worrying relentlessly at where his left glove used to be.

Red tilts his head in a sorta-kinda nod, uncaring.

“sure, ‘cept that they’d need to keep my magic on them for that. their soul ain’t still blue, is it?” He pulls up a reading of some sort—it looks like a standard magical profile from a doctor’s visit. “‘s true that they’ve probably got somethin’ with my magic on them, ‘cause i’m missing some that hasn’t come back. it must exist somewhere, ergo, kiddo has a bone attack or three.”

He never uses Frisk’s name at all. He never uses Papyrus’s, either, and looks kind of uncomfortable whenever he has to make eye contact. Then again, Papyrus feels weird looking at Red, too.

“so, your theory’s pretty solid on that level. but i’m thinkin’ what they’ve got are some bone attacks i gave ‘em to hold on to for self-defense way before all this.” Red rummages in his coat and pulls out a bone that’s been jaggedly cut short into a blade. “papyrus—my brother, not you, sparky—gave ‘em a bunch of those, but they had a few from me too, an’ i keep a couple others around that they coulda grabbed when they left the house. rules are they’re not allowed to leave unless they’ve got enough on them to kill a gyftrot, they know that.”

Papyrus isn’t sure how to feel about giving a kid deadly weaponry on a daily basis. Bad, probably, right? Violent universe or not, that seems bad. Besides…

“That seems…like a terrible house rule, though?? I thought Frisk didn’t believe in killing people? What would they even do with those?” Blue says.

…Frisk is pretty much harmless, deadly weapons or no. Papyrus sure didn’t see any of these bone attacks when he was battling them.

Red scowls. Papyrus gets the feeling this is an old argument. “well, they don’t use ‘em pretty much ever, ‘cause they’re a little shit who’s gonna stress me straight to dust. but that’s why they need ‘em, right? somebody’s gotta look out for them if they won’t do it.”

The scowl drifts closer to a grimace, but Red ruthlessly crushes the expression before it can fully form. Papyrus has gotten way too familiar with the unique face Sans makes when he’s actively refusing to grieve in the past few weeks.

After that instant’s hesitation, Red’s normal scowl is nearly flawless. Papyrus isn’t sure which part is contrived.

Red focuses in on Papyrus and Blueberry decisively. Oh, no, it’s become a teachable moment. Papyrus braces himself.

“think about it. it’s more important to arm people like that than anyone—they’re free EXP unless you give ‘em something to defend themself with,” Red explains, like this is something everybody should know. He shifts his shoulders.

“‘sides, if something comes along that’s bad enough to make the pacifist little kid get violent, that’s, uh, pretty bad, you know?” Red looks terrifyingly sane and reasonable for someone who’s talking about circumstances that might drive children to attack people. He actually seems more levelheaded talking about how important it is to make sure kids have full access to murder tools right at their fingertips than he does talking about objective facts.

“you want them to have a good attack right at their fingertips, one you know will be enough. you want it to put their enemy down so they never get up again—you know what they say, there’s no kill like overkill.”

Papyrus does not know anyone who says that. He’s pretty sure that’s not a thing. A shared glance with Blueberry confirms this—that’s not a saying outside of Red’s terrifying murder-world.

Red doesn’t seem to care, and continues. “what if somebody came by and took ‘em to asgore? a shit ton of karma’s gonna keep ‘em safer than swingin’ a stick around. and they’ll have backups if they need ‘em—it’s my magic, so they won’t have to worry about getting tired in the middle of a battle. that’s way the hell better than leavin’ ‘em all alone and hoping they don’t die when i’m not paying attention. it’s always better to give your people bone attacks if you’re not with ‘em, even for a second.”

Red surveys Papyrus and Blueberry for understanding, nodding to himself to emphasize his point.

Sometimes, Red tries to teach the two of them how to survive, like a lion seal bringing half-dead penguins to those human national geographers to teach them how to hunt. He seems to think that not having killed anyone means that they’re completely helpless, and that they have no sense in their skulls to boot.

It kinda makes sense that he thinks that, since most of his “common sense” advice is either hopelessly paranoid or so backwards that Papyrus never would have thought of it. Like the importance of giving pacifists mandatory access to deadly attacks. That’s an idea Papyrus could have happily gone his whole life without understanding, but like always, Red has decided to waltz through and _explain_ things, and now he has to deal with the crisis of wondering if maybe, in his own world, Red is _right_.

Honestly, Papyrus likes it best when Red’s advice is completely nonsensical. When Red’s ‘safety is what happens when you kill everyone around you’ advice starts sounding even a little reasonable, that’s probably a bad sign.

But…if Red’s world is as dangerous as it seems, bad enough to have made _Sans_ into _Red_ , then isn’t it better to give your loved ones a fighting chance…?

“Or you could trust Frisk to call a grown-up for help when they need it, instead of giving them attacks that they don’t want,” Blueberry says. Sometimes he tries to counter-teach Red, and it’s kind of a mess. “Or you could try to find a peaceful solution, maybe, instead of trying to kill your neighbors when you disagree? Frisk is pretty good at that! They lived with you just fine for a long time without killing anyone, right?”

Red gives Blue the _you idiot, the penguin is swimming away_ look. He switches his gaze to Papyrus.

“they got lucky for a while. am i supposed to just pretend that’s gonna hold forever? sooner or later, someone woulda wanted the reward for getting them to asgore, or they’d get into a scrap that there really wasn’t a way out of—something always happens. the only way to keep ‘em was to keep ‘em safe. if they’d stayed here, you can bet anything i’d have kept them armed ‘til they died, peacefully, from living so damn long that their squishy human body gave out on ‘em. or longer. i bet there’s a way to cheat that with magic.”

Red looks thoughtful for a moment, like he’s actually considering the logistics of making a human being immortal through an unholy mix of magic and science, because Red is actually insane.

“…anyway. we’ll see about that once we find ‘em, and i’m not here to swap tips on how to raise a babybones. just, you get why it’s important to keep attacks around, right? it’s always better to be able to vaporize everything than to need to vaporize everything and realize you can’t ‘cause you didn’t plan ahead. get it?”

Red’s saying all that, but Papyrus is kind of hearing, _you have to eat the penguin to live. it’s called food. please tell me you know what that is or i’ll have to kill all three of us to save myself the embarrassment of knowing you. you’re already terrible pretend sea lions, but at least one of you has some survival instinct, right? papyrus?_

Papyrus hates when people look at him like he’s the sensible one. Sans is the sensible one, Papyrus just looks reasonable when he doesn’t open his mouth to make a fool of himself.

…now they’re both looking at him. There’s no right answer to this question. This is the worst. If Papyrus didn’t already hate interdimensional shenanigans, he does now.

Blueberry takes pity on him.

“…Let’s agree to disagree,” Blueberry says. As soon as Red’s piercing gaze shifts off of him, Papyrus discreetly wipes the sweat off his skull. _thank you, sans, for my life._

“But, what we were talking about before—you don’t think what happened with Frisk in our world is an intent issue, because they don’t have any of your magic except for bone attacks?” Blue flattens out his metatimeline again, to draw attention back to what’s supposed to be the point of this little get-together.

Mercifully, Red lets himself be redirected after one last flat, disappointed stare. Papyrus gets the feeling they’ve fallen even lower on Red’s list of people he least wants to be stuck needing help from, but he does need their help. He wouldn’t keep calling if he didn’t.

Back to science, Red says, “yeah. the attacks’re from before i came up with the alternate universe thing, so they’ve got no intent unless you count taking down whatever idiot’s bothering the kid. just regular attacks.”

Red drums his fingers on his paper, returning his magical readings to their place in the stack. Blueberry makes notes on the metatimeline, next to the battle. A couple of bone doodles join the human on their trip.

“could be that your universe rejected them,” Red says after a moment. “transplants don’t always work, do they? their DT kept them there until they weren’t in danger and they did what they wanted to, and when they weren’t using it anymore, they fell.”

Blueberry shakes his head, tapping a little box labeled “FACTS” at the top of the paper.

“That doesn’t explain why I was involved,” he says, “or why they fell through the machine. I definitely saw the frame from one of our machines, when they fell. Um, probably not mine.”

Blueberry glances sheepishly at the mangled arch of metal that might have looked like a doorway once—you couldn’t fit a person through it if you tried, now. Blueberry’s temper is rare, but when it does come out, it’s not in half measures.

“or maybe you tried to push the kid off a cliff and they brought out the interdimensional shit to escape, fuck if i know,” Red says, frustrated. “or, hell, maybe the old goopy bastard is still with it and he got involved. there’s a million things it coulda been. we need to know more. what’s the link here? is there a link? universal causality…?”

Blue nods sharply before Red can get too far into a tangent. If they let him, Red will rant and mutter all day, and forget that Papyrus and Blueberry are even here.

“Right,” Blueberry interrupts, “let’s look at what we do know, okay? Frisk fell into our world, and magic was involved, and maybe time travel that got pushed off course because of the universe shift, right? And then when they got here…?”

Right over “US,” there’s a little upside-down (or, for a human, right-side-up) SOUL in red pen. It has a few little cracks scribbled into it. “DT/FUSION?” it says.

“the DT bump, yeah. ‘cause their DT woulda got fucked by the trip. that’s part’s pretty much unavoidable,” Red says, looking up from his notes.

“Makes sense to me,” Blueberry agrees.

Red nods. “it takes a lotta power to survive that kind of portal. i woulda had to dust every monster in the underground to get ‘em through it if i was gonna use magic and LOVE to protect them, but lucky me, they had a hell of a battery in them already. human DETERMINATION, plus a bit of a boost from me. our magic’s already used to shortcuts, so that gave ‘em some structural support on the first trip.”

Red makes a fist, and then boxes it in with a couple of small bone attacks, bringing it up above his other hand.

DETERMINATION is as much of a self-sustaining force as magic or LOVE, so it kind of makes sense to use Frisk’s surplus of that to break through the barriers between worlds. Especially if they can already use their DETERMINATION to break apart time how they want to, to some degree. Papyrus doesn’t know enough to know that that isn’t possible, anyway, and Blueberry is nodding.

Red brings his fist crashing into his palm, shattering the bone attacks and flattening both hands with a clatter and scrape. “even with that, one human hasn’t got quite enough juice in them for both the trip and the landing, and once they’re outta my universe, they’re pretty much outta my hands. landing in your universe woulda dusted them. uh. splatted them.”

They all grimace at the thought. There’s something…grotesque about the idea of humans being reduced to meat and blood and sloshy stuff and then just…sticking around. Soaking into the ground.

Red rolls his shoulders.

“anyway. i didn’t want ‘em falling in seven dimensions to their death, so i, uh, did some creative use of resources,” Red says. “which woulda been just fine if they stayed where they were supposed to, in the universe i actually sent them to, but they didn’t.”

Blueberry pretends to be impervious to Red’s harsh look. “And now they have…more DETERMINATION than before? Can you explain that part again?”

Explain it at all, more like. Red gets infuriatingly vague about the mechanics of how he broke down the barriers between their worlds. Oh, sure, he’ll walk through the abstracts with seven layers of jargon, but anything specific? Papyrus is better off trying to figure it out himself.

He can’t figure out whether Red’s hiding things, or whether Papyrus is just so far behind the curve that Red doesn’t realize that Papyrus has no idea what he’s saying sometimes.

“yeah. lemme think…” Red’s ‘science face’ is marginally less homicidal than his regular face, and several steps less painful than Blueberry’s ‘science face.’ Then again, Red isn’t forcing himself through something he hates and fears on hope alone. And the support of his brother, of course. Papyrus gets the feeling Red’s never had the support of his brother.

“so, let’s say your ‘verse is a house. i can hit a baseball into it fine, right? grab a bat and have at it. i don’t get hurt, you might get hurt, but the baseball’s fine,” Red explains. He helpfully mimes hitting something with unnecessary force.

“Kind of rude, but okay,” Blueberry nods. “And you can aim at a window instead of the wall if you want the baseball to get inside instead of bouncing off.”

Red looks a little surprised, like he wasn’t expecting Blueberry to keep up with him. He’s getting to be less surprised, though, each time Blueberry keeps up with him, even though Papyrus still gets lost half the time.

Papyrus isn’t really sure how to feel about that.

At least he can keep up with baseball metaphors. That’s something. He’ll study up on DETERMINATION tonight.

“right. so, i can send the baseball through alright, but just ‘cause i broke your window doesn’t mean i can get in your house. your, uh, door is locked, or something. there is no door. and the baseball didn’t make a big enough hole for me to climb after it,” Red explains. “but, let’s say i forget the baseball and throw a kid at your window, like, really hard. window breaks, kid gets hurt, but they’re in, yeah?”

Stars, Papyrus hopes he didn’t just chuck Frisk at the nearest interdimensional weak point. He has an image in his mind of Red with a child and a baseball bat; two things Red should never be trusted with.

“I’m following,” Blueberry says. “But then there’s glass all over and our window is broken and Frisk is hurt. I’m imagining it, but when I imagine it…it kind of seems?? Like a bad problem-solving solution???”

“imagine there was a riot or something outside, i dunno. it was a better idea than leavin’ ‘em here,” Red waves the idea off. “anyway. let’s say breaking the window takes out, say, 18 HP outta their 20. uh, HP being a stand-in for DT here, ‘cause i didn’t actually fuck with their stats.”

Frisk doesn’t have 20 HP. Blueberry said they only have 14—Papyrus has never seen their HP gauge full, so he assumes that’s a maximum 14 and in practice closer to 10, because Frisk gets into a lot of trouble. But it’s just a metaphor for DETERMINATION anyway, so maybe Red is rounding for easy math.

“That’s a lot of HP to lose all at once…” Blueberry says.

“they’ve had worse, they’re fine,” Red says with concerning confidence. Didn’t he not know Frisk can time travel? Does crazy-paranoid overprotectiveness only apply to injuries caused by other people?

Red continues. “but, yeah, now they’re in the middle of a bunch of broken glass with shit HP and nobody at their back. obviously i wasn’t gonna leave ‘em like that. lucky me, though, in this universe—uh, house—they’re supposed to have a full 20 for HP. the house has numbers for that, that’s how things are supposed to be before they crashed in with a hell of a lot of damage. so i sorta…squish the numbers together. the actual kid’s 2 goes with the 20 that this ‘verse says they should have, and then they’ve got 22 HP total.”

Something about that doesn’t seem right. It kind of seems like Red is pulling numbers from nowhere, in fact. But Papyrus doesn’t know enough about interdimensional metaphysics to say that you _can’t_ just yoink your own stats and add them together. It seems too easy…is this why Sans calls his shortcuts “cheating”?

“Alright, but you said the other day that the boost was permanent. How come they don’t just go back down to normal in time? If you go over your max HP by sleeping, it doesn’t increase your HP forever,” Blueberry says. He’s glancing at Papyrus to make sure he’s still following.

Papyrus nods—he may be playing academic catch-up, but they haven’t even brought up six-dimensional physics yet. He’s fine with baseball and HP metaphors.

“that’s where the metaphor kinda breaks down.”

Damn it.

“if it were really HP we were talking, sure, next time they healed it just wouldn’t go up past 20. but DT’s kinda different. it’s, uh. sticky, i guess?” Red says, shifting on his feet. He has a chair right next to him, but he rarely sits in it.

Sticky? Papyrus thinks of the amalgamates—those were made with DETERMINATION, weren’t they? They sure are some sort of sticky…

“i mean. once it’s with a SOUL, DT doesn’t wanna come out. we had some problems with that in my world—artificial DT injections that couldn’t get undone,” Red says. “you can get it in, but extraction has to be intentional, and it’s only really possible if the SOUL is dead. it won’t just regulate on its own, or shit would be a lot easier.”

The amalgamates—so Red’s world has them, too. And someone would have thought to take the DETERMINATION back out of them if that were an option, Papyrus is sure. What Red is saying checks out.

It’s always a good idea to double-check what Red has to say with a real example, when it’s not too technical to understand. Papyrus still can’t prove that he’s fucking with them, but…

“anyway. since it’s kinda the kid’s DT anyway, once they’ve got a bigger capacity, that stays. they can use it up and their DT levels go down for a bit, just like how you can lose HP. but if they don’t die, they’ll eventually get filled with DETERMINATION again, right back up to 110%, which is their new 100. or, 22 outta 22, if we’re goin’ with the HP metaphor.” Red nods like that explains everything.

So, Frisk ends up with more DETERMINATION than before after breaking through the ‘window’ between worlds. Going by the amalgamates’ example, that could end bad. And if Red has the amalgamates in his universe, he’d know that.

On the other hand, Blueberry didn’t take the same precautions when Frisk left this world, because nobody knew that was going to happen. Is it better to assume the same thing happened over again, or not? Since the general setup of the situation was pretty close, it’s probably safer to assume they’ve had another DT jump than not, right? But what would that mean…?

Blueberry frowns, also seeing the troubling implications there, but hesitates. He fiddles with his remaining glove.

“that’s a lotta DETERMINATION for one human,” Papyrus says for him.

Red looks sharply at him, just…observing. Reading him. Papyrus gets the unnerving feeling like Red is looking into his SOUL.

“yeah, well,” Red says. He thinks for a moment, before letting go of whatever was running through his head. “we don’t want ‘em running out.”

Red has a certain way of looking at Papyrus, sometimes, like he’s not quite sure Papyrus is real, and he hasn’t quite decided what to do with this illusion watching him.

Point number a gazillion for the ‘other-Papyrus is totally dead’ theory.

“…i’m sure they’re fine,” Red says. He looks uncomfortable.

Ever the peacekeeper, Blueberry says, “You’re right! They probably just did the same thing again when they fell out from our world, right? Since everything else was really similar—the portal, me being there, and everything—then that’s probably the same, too, so they definitely didn’t run out between worlds!”

Oh, boy. Papyrus doesn’t even want to think about what would happen if Frisk didn’t get more DETERMINATION after their second trip. Would they even be able to track Frisk’s…remains…?

No, don’t think about the kid being dead. Nope. Blueberry says they’re alive, so they’re alive until he sees otherwise.

“yeah,” Red is sweating. “…yep. then we’ve just got a human with a small bump in DT getting another small bump in DT when they land in a third ‘verse. i mean, DT levels fluctuate anyway, right? that’s fine and, uh, normal for humans. probably. besides the alternate universe stuff. and they’ve only taken the trip twice. not like we have to worry about, uh, an endless run through an unpredictable and dangerous multiverse. or anything.”

He darts a glance at Blueberry, and then at Papyrus, and is apparently not reassured by what he sees. “that would be…that would be crazy. i don’t even know what…good thing, heh, good thing we don’t have to worry about that, because it isn’t happening,” he says. There’s a tightness to his grin that seems brittle. “what a weird thing to bring up. you guys jump to some crazy conclusions. what would you do without a smart guy like me to tell you not to worry about this stuff?”

Papyrus doesn’t care what Red says, he’s worried about it.

Red frowns, then, thoughtfully. “actually, we probably have to worry more about the opposite. if they aren’t getting a hit of DT from wherever they landed, they’re gonna be a lot harder to track. we should worry about that first. or, don’t worry about any of it and just find the kid. we can go through all the whats and hows then.”

Papyrus thinks that Red is greatly underestimating his ability to worry about all things, all of the time, but that’s fine. Most people do.

Through great personal effort, Blueberry looks reassured, at least. He traces his hands over the metatimeline like he can follow it straight to the right answer.

“You’re right,” he says. “We’ll definitely find Frisk and then we can ask them about what happened. After all, we are all very smart and good at things like science, and machines, and science machines. We just need to keep trying hard! Between the three of us, we can do this!”

* * *

Somewhere else far away, Frisk dreams about dancing.

The physical motion, once they start, is like traps and FIGHTs—constant and attentive and important.

They laugh when Sans picks them up instead of tensing and going limp. He spins around while he holds them until the world is a whirl of motion, and then puts them back down on their feet, so they can twirl him around, too—he goes with a grin on his face, this one relaxed and real. Somehow they can see his face even when he’s faced away from them.

He’s forgotten himself and he’s having a great time. Frisk has forgotten, too. His hand ruffles their hair and claps on their shoulder and guides them through a motion that’s all _fun_ and _joy_ and it’s really, really good. It’s home. It’s everything Frisk can think to want.

Frisk spends seconds and days and years whirling through the steps, laughing and dancing and sharing the lead. It’s art in motion. It’s an endless moment free of noise. The details blur out and out until all that’s left is the movement and the response to their white-blue-black smear of a partner, whose only defining characteristic is that he’s present and he really is happy. They are, too.

They’re so happy.

He takes a step back and they can’t feel him guiding them anymore.

Frisk wakes up gasping, searching already for the source of warmth and love that they’ve lost track of. Where has he gone, just out of their reach? What is he doing for them to follow? They don’t know this step.

Why are they in a cave? Why is it so cold…?

Frisk is…Sans is…

Their chest hurts. It hurts like burning. Shy Sans didn’t go anywhere. They just can’t reach him anymore.

It hurts. It hurts. His face is already blurring away—were his teeth sharp? Was his smile wide and constant? His hood, it was gray, right? Or white? It hasn’t been that long since they were with him—they should remember this! They can’t be losing him already; it’s barely been weeks!

Shy Sans is…he was…

They have to _remember_.

Frisk whips the notebook out of their inventory. They’re writing before they can even find a blank page—any page will do. They scribble over _I don’t want to fight you_. They say that all the time anyway, they don’t need it written down.

 _He has a hole in the pocket of his hoodie and he pokes his fingers through it when he’s thinking_ , they write, slanted diagonal across the page. It feels vitally important that they remember this. _He doesn’t like crowds but he won’t say so. He made a plan for teaching me and we wrote it down. He always had chewed up gum but I never saw him chew it. He laughed like it surprised him but he would laugh a lot._

More. What did he look like? How can they not forget? What can they not stand to lose?

_He was not pointy. His eyes looked tired. His shoes were always tied badly and he would stick the laces in the shoe so he wouldn’t trip me with them. His socks were dirty but still white. He didn’t have scars on his hands. He walked like he was on a conveyor belt of sleepiness._

Better. The image in their mind clears up as they focus on it, and the blurry feel from the dream (nightmare? But they were so happy) dries out.

_He wore a blue hoodie and a white shirt and black shorts with a stripe on the side. He had two white eyes. He has gloves but he doesn’t wear them unless he gets annoyed with clothes getting pinched in his joints. He writes with his left hand and he holds the pencil wrong and he likes pens better but he always forgets them in his pockets and they get ink everywhere. When he’s pretending to be tired he closes his eyes but when he’s really tired he only mostly closes them. He broke his foot a long time ago and had to learn how to not walk different. His hands are very strong._

They’re writing diagonally and only using part of the page, and they quickly have to make a new column behind their first because there isn’t any room after it. _He made a joke about a zoo that I don’t remember but he said he was waiting forever to have the right chance to tell it._ What was it? Can’t they remember it?

_He puts his hood up sometimes but not when he’s happy. I told him about light up sneakers and he thought they were cool. I thought about telling him about heelys but I only had one piece of paper so I didn’t. He bends down to talk to me when I’m confused. He danced like how I think acrobats would._

Frisk writes and writes and writes, everything they can fit in a page and then the back of the page and then the next page and the back of that. It’s not even the start of everything they want to write, the exact image in their mind that they want to capture—Shy Sans when he danced with them, all motion and warmth and bright, bright eyes. The first motion that ever, ever, ever felt like _fun_.

Frisk knew about trust before, and about not being scared of someone when they do something you don’t expect because you know they won’t hurt you, but they didn’t know it could be _fun_. They didn’t know someone could spin them around until they were dizzy and make them laugh about it.

Shy Sans is important. He’s absolutely vital and they can’t, they _cannot_ forget him. They can’t lose him like that. He was warm and soft and made jokes. He hung up their joke sign on his station because it made him laugh when he looked at it. They know him. He was irreplaceable.

They can see every fold in his clothes, every angle of light and shadow, they’re sure of it, if they just think and remember what that day looked like. The words can’t do it justice, but they circle _He has a hole in the pocket of his hoodie and he pokes his fingers through it when he’s thinking_ because it makes them think of him.

Their hand is cramped from writing so long and their SOUL stings bitterly because apparently it’s one of those days where it’s just gonna hurt a lot for no reason.

Well, for 6 HP of reason. That’s more than a quarter of what makes them alive, so it’s probably pretty strong, as reasons go.

Frisk crushes their right hand with their left and it clicks when they push something in it that’s still sore. They don’t want to forget.

It wasn’t hurting much yesterday, but they think that maybe that FIGHT with Black Sans took something from them that they haven’t recovered yet, because they’ve felt cold and achy and tired since then, heavy in a way that they can’t explain. Not that they have anyone to explain it to.

They’re pretty sure they can’t REFUSE again. Or, if they do, they’ll need a lot more rest first. They’re so _tired_.

They jolt to their feet with a painful, uncomfortable feeling like someone just tugged on their strings. Thinking like that scares Chara. Frisk can feel the anxious undercurrent of _move, keep going, don’t give up now…!_

They’re not giving up. Not even close. It takes more than pain to stop them.

Frisk still believes beyond the shadow of a doubt that they will get through this, that they will love all of their loved ones again, that the pain they feel now will be so, so worth it, nearly negligible in the end. There’s not a hint of faltering in that conviction—that DETERMINATION. Once they have enough energy, they’ll hold it just as strong as ever.

They’re just tired, right now, and they hurt, and things are very heavy, and they’re trying to hold on to something that feels like wind in their hands. A blur in their memory.

Wanting to live is easy. Wanting to love is easier. Wanting to defy their own death even as it splinters through them is apparently kind of hard, and makes them feel nostalgic. Who’d have thought?

But even if they can’t REFUSE again, now or maybe ever, they can’t scare Chara by going back to sleep in pain and alone. Chara hates all three of those—being asleep, being in pain, and being alone. Especially all three together. Frisk figures that has to still be true in this world, even if Chara still hasn’t really talked to them. Wonderland-Chara was quiet at first, too, but they were a friend in the end. A very good one.

The restlessness in their heart is soothed when Frisk bends to pick up the notebook, puts it neatly away in their inventory, and rubs the shiny burnt end of their charred stick while they’re messing with their items anyway. It’s a smooth, familiar comfort.

They’re not _that_ determined to make it to Snowdin today. Maybe they’ll get there or maybe they’ll make some new friends and some more money first. Maybe they’ll just go to the clearing where they had dancing lessons and try to remember, or dance on their own for a little while. Maybe they’ll go try to find the remains of the doomed stick in this world and see if they can salvage anything so Dancing World Stick doesn’t get lonely in their inventory.

Frisk isn’t hopeless. Things are heavy, but they’re not going to give up their burdens just because they aren’t easy to carry. They’re gonna be okay, they’re gonna be fine, it’s just a little hard right now. They’ll get through it, they tell themself. They just want something to hold on to.

They can’t carry the stick because they already have a weapon equipped. It’s not fair.

Frisk reaches to their SOUL and holds on to the bone attack, carefully placing the stick back in their inventory so they don’t lose it. If they hold the attack tight, it doesn’t hurt so much. It’s warm from their SOUL and the magic it’s made of.

Sans’s bones were always warm. He used to sweat a lot. He probably still does.

Frisk thinks they’re gonna take a quiet day today. Maybe just go to the clearing and try to find the conveniently-shaped lamp. Maybe make a SAVE so they can try getting to Snowdin again. Maybe play Deadly Snow Basketball until things are just easier.

…maybe avoid this world’s Sans and Papyrus, just for today. They’re not ready to face them again yet. Not until they feel a little more DETERMINED.

This won’t last forever. They’ll feel better soon. Frisk curls around the steady warmth in their SOUL and holds on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you didn't check it out last chapter, [Red's backstory](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25500997/chapters/61864519) was requested! If you're wondering about his personal brand of crazy, this is a good point of the story to check it out. You don't need to read it to understand Whither Then, but it's got some nice parallels to the SF universe. Or...perpendiculars, maybe?
> 
> In any case. I hope y'all enjoyed this chapter :) please don't be afraid to comment if it left you with any questions. Or if you want to chat with me! Next chapter, Frisk is gonna meet their newest Papyrus :D it'll be,, an exciting meeting.


	13. The Convenient Lamp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frisk eavesdrops. Don't you know that's rude, kid? You could hear something you're supposed to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much briefing to be done here, so instead here's a name guide for the various 'verses and their inhabitants!
> 
> Underfell: Home, Frisk's first world, the Fell-From World, (by US!Papyrus) Red's horrifying murder-world (or simply murder-world), (in the future) Underfell  
> UF!Sans: Red, Red Sans, (formerly) Real Sans  
> UF!Papyrus: Real Papyrus, Fell-From Papyrus, (in the future) Fell Papyrus  
> UF!Frisk: Frisk
> 
> Underswap: Wonderland  
> US!Sans: Blue, Blue Sans, Blueberry  
> US!Papyrus: (formerly) Tired Papyrus, Cozy Papyrus, (by Red) Stretch, (by Red) Sparky, (by Red) similar suburban baseball dad nicknames (he will settle on Stretch)
> 
> DanceTale: Dancing World  
> DT!Sans: (formerly) This Sans, (formerly) Dancing Sans, Shy Sans
> 
> FriskTale: The World Best Left Forgotten, The World Where Everyone Is Frisk (But Two Inches Shorter??)  
> Frisk!Sans: (actual name) Sfrisks
> 
> Swapfell: (in the future) Wonderfell  
> SF!Sans: Black Sans, (in the future) Black  
> SF!Papyrus: we'll find out soon!, (in the future) Slim

Frisk has a few days sans Sans after their FIGHT with him. He’s not out of mind, but he’s at least out of sight, which means he’s also out of ambushing distance. Which is good, because after that encounter, Frisk is exhausted for half a week.

It’s a little like getting over a cold: day one is achy and they want to curl up and hide (but they get up anyway because lying down and waiting to feel better never helped anyone), and day two they spend half-asleep even at their most active (but they keep active anyway because they’re not gonna feel better if they don’t), and day three they feel worse than normal but better than they have been (better enough to make friends with Chilldrake, even), so they count it as a win. They recover their DETERMINATION in bits and bounds, until on day four, they find themself filled with DETERMINATION again.

Sort of filled. Mostly filled. They feel kind of normal, which makes them think they’ve been feeling not-normal for longer than they’d thought they were. They feel like they could maybe be even more DETERMINED, if they tried…?

Frisk could use all the DETERMINATION they can get.

Walking into a town full of people who can and will kill them seems like a bad idea while they’re recovering from near-death, so they’re forced to keep a low profile near their cave and the Ruins door while they get better. That does give them the good luck of avoiding most monsters—not a lot of monsters stray far from town, and Frisk is already friends with the dogs and most of the teenagers. It seems like Temmie was mostly right about monsters not hurting kids too much.

Shy Sans would probably make the ‘I’m not mad at you but what the fuck is wrong with humans’ smile of discomfort if he were here, but Frisk is treated pretty well all things considered—most FIGHTs they get into are pretty gentle, rarely ever dropping them below 5 HP before they can find their way towards MERCY.

With some notable exceptions, of course.

Frisk is trying to take introductions slowly, after that thing with Black Sans. Pacifying one or two monsters every day is a lot better than walking into Snowdin and getting immediately torn to little Frisky bits. This world acts a little bit like the other worlds they’ve seen by not killing them very much, but they can hear screams when they get close to town sometimes, or find scooped-up, dirty snow where someone collected a pile of dust—to scatter or to hide the evidence, they don’t know.

This isn’t the Fell-From World, but it’s just as dangerous. It just likes to pretend otherwise to kids, which Real Papyrus always thought was stupid. What happens when those kids become adults and they don’t know how dangerous the world outside is? They’ll have to kill someone and they won’t even know that it was the right thing to do.

Frisk isn’t sure that killing people really is the right thing to do for them, but they get the sentiment. Real Papyrus always told Frisk it would be okay if they had to hurt someone to get out of a bad situation. If Frisk couldn’t just die and try again until they made things work, it would have been tempting a time or two.

Luckily, Frisk has the niche superpower of being really good at dying, so they could always be killed and satisfy the ‘kill or be killed’ law that way. Though, in this world, it seems like maybe they can do the opposite…? They’re not really sure who’s getting killed, if they don’t die and they don’t hurt anybody.

They’re avoiding finding out.

On the upside, staying in Glyde’s space is very nearly safe, which is just about the best thing ever. Everyone is terrified of him, apparently, and it’s a little like living with their brothers in the Fell-From World. If they get into a lot of trouble and they don’t want to solve it or die right away, they can run along back home and no one will follow them too far.

There is the little, tiny problem of their unwitting host not actually knowing that they’re in his woods…but that’s probably not a big deal, right? Frisk doesn’t know what squatter’s rights really are, exactly, or if they exist in the Underground, but they’re probably covered by those as long as they don’t get caught.

Red Sans says anything’s legal if you have enough leverage over all the witnesses, but Real Papyrus would always smack him (gently) over the head when he said that, so Frisk is splitting the difference by trying not to get caught. Anything is legal if nobody notices you doing it, probably. Besides, monster laws only apply to monsters.

So far, that philosophy has worked. Glyde hasn’t spotted them in his woods, besides that first meeting. They’re gonna keep it that way for as long as they can.

Frisk is not actually very good at sneaking. Mostly they’re used to getting by just by walking through their problems, or sometimes running for their life, or cowering and pleading for MERCY. Sometimes flirting.

Real Papyrus didn’t like it, but Frisk kinda had fun with that last one. Maybe that’s what they should try on Black Sans…? They bet he’d have something funny to say about it.

Anyway! The point is. Frisk is sneaking around, and they aren’t very good at sneaking, but they have a plan to fix that. They’re gonna learn from the expert.

What entity in the Underground knows all there is to know about keeping Frisk successfully hidden from new monsters? The conveniently shaped lamp. An old friend, like the doomed stick, that Frisk hasn’t made the time to visit in this world. If anything can help Frisk get better at hiding in Snowdin’s woods and backways, it’s the lamp, right?

So on day five post Sans battle, Frisk is getting ambitious. They don’t feel so tired and weighed down anymore, and they want to expand their horizons. Today, they’re doing that by stopping by the clearing with Sans’s guard station in it. They’re gonna visit the lamp and divine its sneaky secrets.

Sans’s station is technically closer to their cave than most of the places they’ve hung out in, but they haven’t actually made it to this particular part of the road yet. Before their FIGHT with him, going right to Sans’s place of work seemed like a good way to die without really helping anything. That changes today, though. It’s time to get up and get going, and their first stop on the way to Snowdin is gonna be the lamp.

Luckily for Frisk, today is a lovely day for a walk. The tall, tall trees are dark and foreboding near the roadside, but underneath the canopy Frisk feels surrounded and sheltered. The air is thick but cold and crisp, giving their lungs a pleasant ache when they breathe in deep, like they’re taking in something solid and weighty. Everything smells like dust and pine sap, which bleeds from the trees at the junctions of claw marks and rends in the bark. Frisk can touch any tree and their hand will be sticky all day.

When they get to little openings in the woods, snow is falling from somewhere far above in a down-gray blanket. Each flake pricks their skin with a feeling of hanging hostility. Any screaming or sounds of death and hysteria are too far away to hear, but not so far that Frisk is afraid of something sneaking up on them. They’re alone, for now, but without the stiflingly placid feelings of worldwide complacency that have haunted them in every world since the Long Fall. Frisk takes comfort in the familiar feel of home.

They move forward at an unhurried pace, and before long (and after dodging some traps—Black Sans is getting more creative with his calibrations, if slightly less deadly, in order to catch them with their guard down later. Frisk is kind of flattered that he doesn’t think he can catch them with something more straightforward), they reach the path and can see their goal just ahead.

There it is—the familiar clearing, ringed by dense woods and snowdrifts. There are a couple of snow poffs, which Frisk thinks might have a camera in them, and Sans’s station. It looks like it’s made of stone instead of wood in this world, with metal supports for the roof. It’s conspicuously clean of snow, which is impressive, given that it’s currently snowing.

Even the snow is too intimidated to settle on Sans’s roof. Real Papyrus would be so jealous.

It’s as they’re nearing Sans’s station to investigate this phenomenon that Frisk hears a crunching on the path behind them, and no, no thank you. Frisk knows what ominous crunching means on this path. They just got better from not dying, and they’re not looking to do it again today.

They do want to meet up with Black Sans again, really, but they’re pretty sure he might be copying how Red Sans snuck up on them when he first met them, and actually, being electrocuted to death is really uncomfortable.

Without stopping to look behind them, Frisk darts the few steps to the conveniently-shaped lamp, still there and still convenient. They cower behind it just in time for the distant footsteps to approach. It’s been several days since they’ve gotten a good cower in.

The lamp faithfully conceals them. Frisk pats it once in appreciation before they go still in exactly the right position to be best hidden.

 _Crunch_ , at the path. _Crunch, crunch_ , into the clearing.

There’s a heaviness to the air.

Sans.

Frisk stops breathing. But, will that make them louder when they start breathing again? They try to breathe very slowly and quietly.

The footsteps have stopped. The woods are so quiet Frisk can hear individual snowflakes landing on the lamp and the ground.

He’s listening. They’re listening. Does he know…? Did he see them?

No bone attack comes. No laser beam. No blue attack.

Just the still, and quiet, and the little _pap_ sounds of fat snowflakes landing on the lampshade.

…the air still feels heavy. He isn’t gone, they don’t think—it’s not heavy like it was when he was hunting them, but their heart still thumps danger into their body.

Frisk didn’t believe in monsters before they fell down, but their human blood remembers stories about what’s in the dark and on lonely roads. There was once a lost traveler, somewhere not far from here, who went alone into the woods…

Frisk stares at the lamp out of the corner of their eye; the safe shelter that the foolish hero would forsake. They don’t dare to turn their head. There’s a shallow scratch on its shiny surface, and the lampshade is slouching and bent out of the traditional lampshade shape to better hide an errant human.

On the other side of that lamppost is Black Sans. Waiting. Watching. He isn’t approaching his station, or moving on his patrol. What is he doing? Is he looking at them?

Frisk almost relaxes when they hear more crunching. Black Sans must have just paused, for some reason—but, no, it’s coming from the wrong side of the clearing.

The red herring, maybe? The reassuring sound that makes the human think it’s over, the danger has passed and they have survived, and then as they ease out of hiding they scream as they’re gobbled up? They’re never seen again, but people say that to this day you can still hear…

“Papyrus,” Black Sans greets, and all thoughts of terror and legends fall away.

Sans wouldn’t eat anybody. That’s more like Politics Bear, or maybe Glyde. Gyftrot, if it’s in a good mood. Sans wouldn’t give them time to scream, either.

Papyrus is here, though. Frisk hasn’t met this Papyrus, but he must be what made the sound on the other side of the clearing, because Sans said his name.

Was that warmth in his voice? Or just a neutral tone, after Frisk has only heard him hostile? It’s hard to tell what he’s thinking, with just one word to go on. He doesn’t sound like the snarling, gnashing thing that their pounding heart insists on fearing, though. He sounds like a person talking to another person. He sounds like Sans.

Well, of course he does. He is Sans.

There’s an extended silence. It’s not the thick, tense silence from just a moment ago—Frisk doesn’t feel the shadow of death hanging over them. Not that that would stick, anyway, it just gets to them sometimes. Sans can be kinda creepy when he wants to be.

This silence is incomplete, and filled with living things. Frisk breathes quietly. There’s some shifting of cloth as the brothers move, and their joints click—maybe they’re gesturing at each other? Playing rock-paper-scissors, for some reason?—but Frisk can’t see it, hidden as they are. Maybe it’s just idle animation; no Papyrus they’ve met could resist fidgeting when he had to stand still for too long.

…are they just standing in the clearing, staring at each other? What _is_ that movement?

Frisk is almost ready to try to peek around the lamp to see what those two are doing that that has them standing at opposite sides of a clearing, fidgeting, not walking anywhere. Just as they’re daring to lean forward a tiny bit, the standoff breaks as suddenly and as quietly as it began.

“cap’n,” a soft voice—it must be Papyrus—drawls. It sounds a little bit like Cozy Papyrus, but more…calm? Soothing. “don’t mind me. just passing through.”

“Hmph,” Black Sans snorts with distain. Whatever he sounded like saying his brother’s name, he sounds completely different now. And he’s speaking louder? Maybe Papyrus wasn’t meant to hear him before?

Maybe he meant, “Papyrus,” like “Oh, that’s Papyrus over there,” talking to himself, and not like, “Hello, brother, it’s good to see that you haven’t died while I wasn’t paying attention,” as a greeting. Maybe he was just thinking out loud and that’s why he sounded softer. He certainly doesn’t sound soft now.

“What business do you have in this area? Complete it and leave. You have puzzles that require calibration, if memory serves. Go be someone else’s responsibility.” If Frisk didn’t know better, they’d say Black Sans and this Papyrus are nearly strangers. Black Sans’s voice doesn’t even yield amiability—Frisk hasn’t met any Sans, ever, who doesn’t know how to be friendly when he wants to be.

This Papyrus’s voice is quiet and not very passionate. “heard there was a cool lamp around here that i might like to take home. think it’s _right over there_.”

Frisk braces themself to run. Horror story or no, they really wouldn’t want to FIGHT both brothers at once. That sounds like a bad time.

There’s no crunch of movement. No one approaches. The brothers seem content to stand where they are.

Frisk stays hidden, for now. They wait for the signal that will tell them to flee.

Somehow, Black Sans rescues them. “You may return at a later time for your lamp. I have patrols to do, and I am not in the business of wasting my time babysitting random civilians. At any time, a human could fall down here, and—” There are more movement sounds, definitely from Papyrus, but Frisk is distracted by Black Sans’s words. He hasn’t told anyone that they’re here yet?

Well…maybe he didn’t want someone else to kill them? No, he definitely wanted them dead, and he didn’t seem to care how. Maybe…

Maybe Frisk is starting to get through to him?

Maybe Black Sans is covering for them?

Maybe that’s even why he’s trying to send his Papyrus away. Frisk isn’t sure why he’s calling his brother a random civilian when they live together, but maybe they’re fighting, or something. Dancing Sans and Sans Who Shall Not Be Named and Red Sans all hid Frisk from their brothers behind the convenient lamp, and they all turned out to be good friends! Maybe Black Sans is doing the same.

Black Sans is a good person. Frisk knows it. Good people make mistakes sometimes, or do wrong things, but he stopped trying to kill them entirely at the end of the battle. He didn’t keep them from running away. He’s left them alone for five days to get better, and he stopped in the clearing without shooting their hiding spot with lasers or bone bullets. Assuming he knows they’re here. It would be weird of him to stop in complete silence and just stand there if he didn’t know, right?

Then again, he did just stand across from Papyrus for several long moments without doing much of anything that Frisk could hear. Maybe Black Sans spaces out a lot? That’s a dangerous habit. He should stop doing that.

After a brief pause, almost a stutter, Black Sans clears his throat. Sort of.

“Ah-hem,” he says, lacking an actual throat to clear. Frisk gets what he’s going for. “That is, a human could fall, and a weak monster such as yourself would be dust instantly.”

He sounds like he hates every word as he says them.

Frisk hates them, too—why is Black Sans talking like this? Calling his own brother weak out in the open, where anyone could hear them? If anyone but Frisk is listening, talking like that is the next closest thing to killing Papyrus himself.

Not even that—it’s practically calling out an open season, for anyone to hurt Papyrus however they want to, because he’s weak and he can’t protect himself and apparently Black Sans isn’t willing to protect him, either.

Sure, the woods _look_ empty. That doesn’t mean it’s safe to talk like that. Even knowing that Papyrus is very strong and can take care of himself just fine—being strong isn’t always enough, if a lot of people have decided you’re an easy target. If your own family practically calls for your death.

There must be a misunderstanding, or something. Black Sans might be a little oblivious and not know what kind of danger he’s inviting through the front door. Or maybe he’s arrogant and assumes Papyrus can take care of it, or something—whatever it is, it’s a deadly mistake that he can’t afford to make more than once.

Once Black Sans is their friend, Frisk is going to have _words_. Or, emphatic gestures, at least. Between calling Papyrus weak and calling him a random civilian, Black Sans obviously doesn’t know how to be a good brother. Frisk will have to show him.

Red Sans’s bone attack throbs like it thinks they’ve forgotten their less-than-perfect history with brothers.

Black Sans doesn’t need to know about that, Frisk decides. He doesn’t ever need to know. Frisk will just tell him about the important things, like _family comes first, always_ , and _protect each other no matter what_ , and _don’t tell everyone in earshot that your brother is free EXP_.

Sans is smarter than this. He loves his brother more than this, even if he pretends not to, even if they argue. There has to be a reason he’s saying this, some sort of ulterior motive that’s telling him to take this risk. What is up with Black Sans?

“what can i say, i’m a pacifist,” says Papyrus, out loud, totally unprotected from eavesdroppers, proudly displaying a suicidal streak that Frisk hasn’t seen in any Papyrus, ever. “prob’ly wouldn’t attack anyone even if they were human. hey, you never know, humans could be friends, too.”

Frisk waits, tense. Sure, it’s fine for Dancing World Papyrus to say he’s going to befriend a human—but this world is more sensible. He can’t say stuff like that. Much less calling himself a _pacifist_ , of all things. He might as well call himself dust and go get a broom, except that Sans would never let anything happen to him. He’d dust himself first, and then Frisk would be alone.

If Real Papyrus said something like that…Frisk doesn’t know what Sans would do.

Well. They have an idea. He’d do something to make sure Papyrus never even thought about saying something like that in public ever again. Maybe something to show any eavesdroppers that his brother can take an attack and give as good as he gets, to discourage anyone from actually believing he’s harmless. Maybe something that would leave lasting scars in the landscape, just to prove that anyone that crosses either brother is as good as ash in the snow.

That’s what Frisk assumes, because that’s the only possible way to salvage such a horrific mistake. They don’t know for sure, because Real Papyrus would never, ever have said something so suicidally reckless. Even when monsters stopped killing each other in Snowdin, slowly, quietly; no one would dare to make such a bold statement about it. Frisk was the only one who ever admitted to showing MERCY, because Frisk was the only person who could afford to be killed for it.

Papyrus can’t come back, if someone kills him over this. But Frisk doesn’t want to see their brothers FIGHT, either.

They clench their fingers around the hem of their sweater, ready to intervene. Not sure how they’ll intervene. They don’t want Papyrus to get in trouble. Being protected by a human child would be almost as bad for him as his brother calling him weak.

Maybe Black Sans would be distracted by killing Frisk and forget what Papyrus said…? Maybe, if he does kill them, they can LOAD and stop this conversation from happening?

Frisk can’t even summon their bone attack to hold on to for comfort, because the glow of their SOUL would give them away.

“You are a strange creature,” Black Sans says neutrally, “and your recklessness risks dirtying my station with your dust. If you must philosophize, do it elsewhere.”

What?

Doesn’t Black Sans care about his brother at _all_? Shouldn’t he at least—he needs to tell Papyrus he can’t say things like that! Someone needs to tell both of them that the woods are not a safe place to talk about this stuff!

Anyone could be here— _Frisk_ is here, and Papyrus doesn’t even know it! What if they were dangerous? They would know that Sans thinks Papyrus is weak, that he doesn’t care about him enough to claim him as a sibling, and that Papyrus is a _pacifist_ , of all things. Any one of those facts is deadly all on its own—Frisk can speak from experience.

Or, not speak, because Sans thought they were weak and decided not to care about them anymore and Frisk didn’t even FIGHT back and now they can’t stand to talk out loud at all and they’re so far away from home.

Frisk’s jaw hurts, and they realize they’ve been clenching their teeth. They kind of want to yell at Black Sans to do better at being a brother, and at Papyrus to do better at being alive, and maybe give both of them a hug and hold on tight forever because this is scaring them. Frisk is scared.

They just got here. They just got here and they can’t lose their brothers before they’re even their brothers yet. They thought that since Sans was so strong and so good at killing them, he must be good at keeping him and Papyrus safe, but this is—this is awful.

It was okay in worlds that didn’t make sense in the first place. Worlds where people said things that didn’t make sense, and pretty much never took safety into account ever, and made Frisk kinda happy and really lonely. It was okay for Sans and Papyrus to say dangerous things in those worlds, because nobody knew those things were dangerous. It was like a secret that only Frisk knew, those exposed weaknesses that Frisk held close and tried to guard against other people, just in case.

This isn’t like that. Sans and Papyrus are supposed to fit in whatever world they live in. They’re supposed to be strong enough to keep each other safe. Real Papyrus risked his life helping them with Undyne, but—but that was an exception. That was because Real Papyrus loved them as much as they love him, and he made a choice. He didn’t just put himself in danger for no reason, like it was just part of his life, like it was a totally normal thing to do. He didn’t talk like he wanted to die.

“I have finished my patrols on the path behind me and will not be returning to it for several days, I expect. If you must wander in the woods, do it there and get out of my sight. But be warned,” Black Sans says.

Black Sans pauses. As he does, the whole clearing seems to be thrown into sharp relief—the shadows are heavy, and the air itself seems to stop its gentle circulation.

A crushing, instinctual fear crawls up Frisk’s throat, like he’s paused just before the killing blow. It smothers the growing fear _for_ him in fear _of_ him as he says, “If I hear the sound of _any sort of attack_ , at all, I will find you. You will be dead before you land a single blow. There will be no harm to any monster under my jurisdiction.”

Black Sans definitely knows that Frisk is here. That message was not for Papyrus.

The pressure lifts, and Frisk breathes a quiet sigh of relief.

Black Sans doesn’t want his brother dead, at least, despite what it sounded like earlier. He’s still willing to loom and threaten for his brother’s safety. That’s good. That’s good.

They’re not sure how much respect Black Sans commands in Snowdin; if that threat is enough to keep anyone from picking at Papyrus’s exposed weaknesses. If it were Red Sans, it wouldn’t be—people like Red Sans, but they mostly fear Papyrus. But Black Sans is important and has a fancy uniform and doesn’t hide that he’s really strong. It might be enough. It _must_ be enough.

Papyrus saying what he did wasn’t as dangerous as it sounded. His brother is important and scary. It’s like—it’s like when Red Sans would say stuff about how he didn’t care if he died or not. It would be scary for anyone to say if they were all alone, but he has someone protecting him that’s scary enough that no one will dare try to take him up on it.

Frisk’s next breath is a little shuddery. It’s a purely physical reaction to how the air no longer seems like it’s going to crush them, but they won’t deny the relief in it, either. This world’s Papyrus isn’t completely alone. Black Sans cares about him.

They were scared for a minute there, but their brothers do have each other’s backs. And Frisk will have their backs, too, since they seem to be a little bad at protecting themselves. It’s not that they don’t love each other.

It’s just that neither of them have the good sense to keep their weaknesses quiet. Or maybe they’re fighting or something, so they’re being very careless, but they don’t hate each other.

Frisk’s next breath shakes a little, too, and it maybe scrapes in their throat a little like it’s trying to be a sob of relief, but Frisk is hiding and stifles it down. The last thing Sans and Papyrus need is to be startled by an eavesdropper after such a dangerous conversation. Besides, of course Black Sans will protect his brother. Always. They were being a little silly, questioning that over a couple of (terrifying) sentences. Sans fixed it. He did his scary creepy thing and it’s okay, Papyrus is safe now. Anyone who was listening must have been scared off by that.

Except for Frisk, but Frisk would never, ever hurt Papyrus, ever. They’d tear a piece out of their own SOUL to protect him. So between them and Black Sans, Papyrus isn’t gonna die.

Frisk will just check on Papyrus before they make a SAVE from now on. Just to be safe. As long as they don’t SAVE over his death, they can get him back.

“jeez, cap, you wanna cool it some? you do this to every wandering monster you see?” Papyrus doesn’t seem impressed by his brother’s display.

“I take my duties very seriously,” Black Sans says. Good. Every Sans takes their brother duties seriously, and Frisk is glad that Black Sans isn’t any different.

There’s some shuffling sounds. A pause.

More pointed shuffling.

“…Perhaps I have been known to act in excess where those duties are concerned.” Black Sans seems to be choosing his words carefully, almost reluctantly, except that Frisk has never met any Sans who can be convinced to do or say anything he really doesn’t want to. “My aggression was…imprudent, in this particular instance. While I stand by the sentiment, I apologize for any feelings of vital terror that I have caused with my words or behavior, now and in the past. I will, of course, not bring harm onto any peaceable being solely for cruelty’s sake.”

Oh, no. Now Sans is doing dangerous things. Frisk’s heart can’t take this.

Black Sans pauses, seeming to think for a moment, and backtracks to safety. “That is, I will not harm a creature who has proven itself to be of no ill intent, once it had been made clear to me that they will not under any circumstances bring harm onto my home or my people. I apologize and take full responsibility for any actions I have taken that stand contrary to that ideal. That was wrong of me. I will not behave so hastily in the future. If a peaceful accord can be reached without causing unnecessary harm, I will give it its due consideration.”

He’s not saying he won’t hurt anyone. He’s leaving himself so many loopholes that even Frisk can see, like, three of them. He’s not saying he won’t come down like a cave-in on anyone who threatens Papyrus.

He’s just…apologizing. And saying he wants to try again.

It sounds a lot like he’s apologizing to Frisk.

Another pause. Shuffling of fabric. Increased shuffling of fabric. It sounds a little bit like one or both of the brothers is fighting a weasel in his jacket.

That’s okay. Frisk needs time to process this. No one has apologized to them so carefully since…before the Long Fall, they think. He’s being so careful with his words that Frisk thinks he’s even being honest.

Black Sans is really…sorry for scaring them. And killing them.

Sans is _sorry_.

Sans is never sorry.

But now, Sans is sorry. For hurting them. He said he won’t do it again, maybe, as long as he’s not scared that they’ll hurt somebody.

Black Sans is a lot like Real Papyrus. He’s not gentle like Real Papyrus, or quite as honorable, and he doesn’t feel like he’d be the only solid thing in an earthquake and the whole world _will_ adjust itself around him; but he’s tried to kill them and he’s decided that that was wrong of him and he’s sorry he did it. He’s not sheepish like Undyne or nonchalant like Red Sans or cautious and troubled like Blue Sans or anxious like Alphys, but he’s serious about apologizing, in his own Black Sans way.

He apologized.

“…I promise,” Black Sans grits out, finally.

He promises.

He promises that he’s sorry and he’s gonna try to do better.

There’s a _plip_ a little louder and crisper than the sounds of the snowflakes hitting the ground at Frisk’s feet. Another tear comes down to drip from their chin.

Frisk trusts Sans. They do. They trust him to do the right thing, eventually, whenever he can. They trust him to be their brother, even if he takes time to accept that.

They knew he wasn’t gonna kill them. They knew he’d stop trying sometime. But somehow, it doesn’t feel like that at all right now.

Somehow it feels like this is something completely new.

Frisk presses their shoulder against the convenient lamp and closes their eyes and puts their achy right hand over their mouth, trying not to breathe too loudly. They’re so…relieved? No. They’re…grateful?

They’re happy. They’re so happy that he wants to be nice to them again. They’re so happy they don’t have to be afraid of him anymore. They _missed_ him.

He’s sorry he hurt them and he wants to not hurt them anymore.

Frisk has to hold their breath. Their nose is too stuffy and they don’t want to risk panting out of their mouth.

“…well,” Papyrus’s unusually soft voice says. “if you promise. thanks, guy.”

“Indeed,” says Black Sans.

There’s a little more mysterious shifting. Frisk soaks up the sound of their brothers moving around and talking like a balm. They don’t have to be enemies anymore.

“i’m gonna go on that path you just came from,” says Papyrus. “that was a cool, uh, speech thing, but it was kind of a lot and i think i need to chill out a little bit after hearing it. i’m gonna go be peacefully by myself over there and process my feelings.”

He pauses.

“i mean, i wouldn’t mind company. that would be cool. it might be nice to talk about the complicated emotions i am having about your apology speech with someone who wasn’t super involved in the situation and might be friendly. that might make me feel happier and less upset and, uh, overwhelmed. or maybe i want to be alone for a bit, and that’s cool too. but, uh. i, personally, friendly skeleton monster papyrus, will be going over there now. i will have food. and. puzzles? i’ll try to think of a puzzle. yeah. going now. that way. away from town. seeya, stranger.”

Frisk isn’t really listening to his words right now. They’re really happy and still kind of scared for Papyrus and stressed out and they just want to hear him talk some more. They focus on the cadence of his voice as it smooths over the air. It’s less frenetic than some Papyri they’ve heard. If the special round knife that spreads frosting over a cake had a voice, Frisk thinks this is what it would sound like.

“Very well. Go in peace,” Black Sans says. “I will go the other way down the path. I will be recalibrating my traps, and it will take much of my focus. I am unlikely to return this way today, unless you call for my help for any reason. Be safe.”

Frisk curls closer to the lamp as the brothers cross paths, going their separate ways. They wait for the crunching footsteps to fade into the distance and disappear entirely before they unhide, and a little longer besides.

There’s a little paper bag on the ground that wasn’t there before. It has spiders pictured on it, and a little tag on the handle.

Frisk looks both ways down the path.

Nobody.

They approach the bag. It’s a regular paper bag. It says _Made with real spiders!_ on the side.

They flip over the tag.

_papyrus’s lunch  
if found, please bring to a good home._

Papyrus must have dropped this.

Well, Frisk is kind of homeless at the moment, but…they could eat it anyway? Finders keepers, right?

No. They should bring it back. Stealing from people is okay if you really have to, but it would be nicer to return Papyrus’s lunch to him, and they don’t want him to be hungry without it. They don’t even know why he was out here, either—he obviously didn’t take the lamp. What if he wanted to have a really ill-advised picnic? He would be foiled without his lunch.

Oh, but that’s dangerous. Oh, dear. Maybe Frisk should just…go after him. Yeah. Maybe Frisk should follow him and leave his lunch in a conspicuous area and maybe keep an eye out for monsters or particularly threatening snow poffs. And maybe he’ll talk some more. And Frisk can make sure someone is looking out for him. And it might be sort of like hanging out with him a little, before they’re ready to really introduce themself and get to be friends with him. Frisk is taking it slow with introductions.

Frisk gives the lamp another fond pat to thank it for its contributions, picks up the bag, and sets off away from Snowdin.

The convenience of that lamp still fills them with DETERMINATION.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun facts: Black did not initially know that Frisk was hiding behind the lamp (he had a feeling someone was around, but he couldn't pinpoint where or who), but Slim is tall enough to see over the lamp, and he and his brother both know sign language.
> 
> This chapter was not supposed to exist, but I sat down and started typing and it just kinda came out? I'm glad it did, now--I think it's good to get some closure in on the Literally Killed You front before Frisk and Black begin talking. Also, accountability is important to Black. Also also, I like the image of this whole conversation happening while Frisk hides behind a lamp that's two inches shorter than them and Black and Slim stand across a clearing yelling at each other.
> 
> Next chapter, all the fluff that got pushed off so we could have this chapter! And puzzles. Really great and excellently baked puzzles.
> 
> (also I missed fic writers appreciation day, so: I appreciate you! belatedly! thank you everyone for your contributions to fandom!)


	14. Skinny Papyrus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frisk is concerned for Papyrus's health and safety.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a lot of fun with this chapter :) it's pretty much all fluff here, folks.
> 
> **Briefing:**  
>  Swapfell Sans/Black Sans is the type to tackle new and challenging problems with extensive conspiracy boards that make no sense. He claims it helps him organize his thought process, despite the fact that his boards induce confusion and chaos in anyone who should witness them. SF Papyrus/Slim has long resigned himself to red yarn disasters whenever his brother is sufficiently troubled. As he's improved his knitting skills, the boards have at least become more aesthetically pleasing; he's begun designing them like extremely loose lace doilies. This has not helped his organization/readability even a little bit.
> 
> In reality, Black just likes having the space and materials to spread his problems all over visually and then fuss over them. He feels accomplished when he takes them down.

Frisk waits for a little bit for Papyrus to get out of the area before they take to the woods. They’ll catch up to him and give him his lunch soon, but if Black Sans isn’t gonna canvass the area and make sure they didn’t have any eavesdroppers, and Papyrus is going the other direction, Frisk ought to make sure things are clear before they do anything else.

They kinda really wanna follow Papyrus right now immediately just in case, but he’s pretty strong in any universe. If he gets in a FIGHT, they’ll definitely hear it and they can come running.

They’re not sure what they’ll come running to _do_ , since depending on a human child to defend him will mark him as an easy target and he’ll die anyway, but they’ll figure something out. They always do.

Maybe he won’t need them. He’s survived for this long, so he must be doing something right. Or he’s never left his house before. Maybe Frisk should be going after him…

No, Papyrus will be fine for a little while. He’s tough. It’s more important to make sure nobody heard anything right now, to stop Papyrus from getting hurt in the future when Frisk might not be right there to protect him. An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of dust.

That in mind, Frisk puts Papyrus’s lunch in their inventory, summons their SOUL, and sets out to the woods.

No monster will resist trying to capture a human SOUL when it’s right out in the open. If anybody was around to eavesdrop, they’ll find Frisk before they find Black Sans or his Papyrus. Frisk will take care of them.

* * *

Welp. Attempt #1 to meet the kid: mixed success. Papyrus isn’t sure why Sans has that old lamp at his station, but it sure was convenient today. Kid doesn’t seem to realize they’re a little too tall to hide behind it—though Sans is short enough that it didn’t much matter with him. Papyrus, who has grown since childhood, is another matter.

He hadn’t even expected Sans to be at his station today, much less the human, but talk about a happy coincidence. The only way that could have gone better would be if Sans wasn’t there to scare the kid to tears. Yeah, Papyrus heard that sniffling—the kid isn’t as quiet as they might think they are. He’ll have to work on that with them, if hiding is gonna be how they avoid conflict.

Papyrus isn’t much of a teacher, but he’s good at quiet slinking. He excels at it, in fact. All the better to eavesdrop.

All things being equal, Papyrus would have really liked to fake a phone call while the kid was listening in and manage his first impression that way. It would be nice if they didn’t immediately associate him with Sans before he can build any trust with them. Since, well, Sans tried to kill them, and all. Sorta tried. Tried very hard and then really couldn’t do it at the last possible second, triggering a crisis of conscience that the kid may or may not have recognized for what it was.

He’s pretty sure he and Sans did a reasonable impression of people who aren’t in cahoots for now, but that pushes problems down the line.

The fact that they live together, for instance. Or the rumors in Snowdin that they share a telepathic link, or they’re secretly pieces of the same monster that split off into two, or something. That’ll make it awkward when the kid figures out that they kinda-sorta lied about not knowing each other today.

Papyrus isn’t gonna think about that right now. All he can do is worry, and that’s not gonna help anyone.

On the bright side, he’s hopefully managed to make a decent impression of a harmless, low-LOVE schmuck, which is probably what humans are used to on the Surface. From what Papyrus can gather, humans are basically pacifists outside of wartimes, and only very rarely kill each other in the street. It’s supposed to be illegal to kill other humans, even. There’s probably a bit of culture shock between that and the Underground.

Hopefully that means the kid will latch on to the first friendly face that doesn’t try to murder them to death. Do humans imprint? Can Papyrus make that happen? They’ve already shown Sans mercy instead of even trying to preserve their own life, so someone being nice to them has to warrant some serious good feelings, right?

It’s a little hard tell what a human child would find reassuring in a big, dark cave full of scary monsters that want to eat their SOUL, but as near as he can figure peace, food, and puzzles have gotta be a good start. After all, humans have been solving monster puzzles since time immemorial; it’s basically part of the kid’s heritage.

Admittedly, despite how much monsters loved making puzzles once upon a time, it’s kinda fallen out of practice since the war and the Underground and especially after the whole tyrannical monarch thing. Now there are traps, which are like puzzles except for how the point is to kill the puzzler. So Papyrus is kinda reverse-engineering, trying to figure out a puzzle that’s easy enough for a kid and might be in the realm of things humans do on the Surface.

So far, he’s found that crosswords are really hard to make as well as being boring as hell, and also, he doesn’t know if the kid can read and write. So he’s back to the drawing board.

At least he left them some food. It’s not like they could miss the bag right next to their hiding place, or the note that basically says “eat me, human.” ‘sides, the kid’s gotta be hungry. That means at least one gesture of goodwill must have gotten through.

Papyrus kicks at some snow on the path, getting up again to drift a little further down. He didn’t think to specify how far down the path he’d be, so he’s just making a slow motion away from Snowdin and hoping the kid catches up soon. He’ll find a place to post up for another fifteen minutes or so a bit down the path.

Maybe some kind of drawing puzzle…?

Papyrus kicks another snow poff. Then he realizes that could seem like an aggressive gesture and hurriedly pats the displaced snow back into shape before scooting right along. Nothin’ to see here. Just a fine maestro of tasty puzzles and relative trustworthiness.

…

Sure. Yep. That’s Papyrus.

Puzzles. Drawing puzzles. Easy, nonlethal puzzles for kids. Or, maybe slightly lethal? No, they probably aren’t at the point that nonlethal puzzles would seem _too_ suspicious yet. At least, not from their new friend who is totally unrelated to the maniac trying to kill them. Best to err on the side of the harmless.

Harmless…puzzles…harmless art puzzles? Fun and gentle crafts???

Hmm. Spirographs take too many materials…maybe later, if they need to learn geometry for some reason…some sort of origami trap? Nah, origami might be a bit advanced if they’re really little. Sans said they’re old enough to understand mortality, but is that, like, six years old, or twelve? Death is an easier concept to swallow than most origami instructions. Or maybe not, since there might be more origami than LOVE on the Surface…?

Well, all Papyrus has for materials are some pencils and his sketchbook right now, so origami is out unless he wants to make paper knives.

He wasn’t really anticipating having his first contact today. Why did he have to blurt out that thing about puzzles? He could have just not said anything, but no, now he’s gotta figure out some sort of pen-and-paper puzzle for a kid he knows next to nothing about.

There are some quiet crunches to Papyrus’s left. He smoothly slows his pace to a meander so as not to move too far from them.

The footsteps aren’t heavy enough to be the Gyftrot, who must be hibernating this far from Gyftmas, and he’s not in Glyde’s space. Could be a teen stalking him to see if they can get some free EXP, but he’s a bit far out for the teens to hang. They’d have to cut through Glyde’s territory or use the path, and Sans would have turned them around if they were on the path.

Could be a monster who’s lived in the woods a while. Not even Sans knows what all lives in these woods. But Papyrus is gonna bet this is the human, watching him from the relative safety of the trees.

It’s not a bad idea—they can see out of the treeline, but it’s too dark and dense for him to see in. If he were hostile, he’d have to obliterate the whole side of the road to hit them for sure, and that would make his attack too dispersed to take them out in one hit, and he’d have used his strongest attack before combat even starts.

From there, they could trigger a FIGHT or flee in the chaos and have a decent chance to get away. Plus, home field advantage—Papyrus wouldn’t leave the path unless his life depended on it, because the woods are really fucking dangerous.

All the more reason to get the kid out of them. Or at least, not scare them further in.

In that interest, Papyrus doesn’t glance over at the noise. He may as well not have heard it, for all he reacts.

Instead, he continues to loiter on the path casually, like a cool guy that kids would want to get to know. Look at him, being an interesting but nonthreatening part of the background. He’s so worthy of further investigation, and yet unworthy of caution or fear. Maybe he should have brought sunglasses.

Next time, maybe. For now, Papyrus puts his hands in his pockets to exaggerate his lazy slouch, working with what he’s got. Look how not-terrifying he is. He’s the least intimidating monster in the Underground. Don’t mind the teeth. Or the stats. He’s totally soft and fluffy on the inside, and also the outside. Skeletons are known for their fluffiness.

While Papyrus is channeling warm fuzzies, the quiet crunching has come to a stop. He waits, but it doesn’t start up again.

That’s fine. Cautious but not aggressive; it’s a decent starting point. Human’s probably gonna watch him for now, maybe get a handle on what he’s doing on their turf, and how likely he is to lose it and attack at the first sign of life.

With any other stalker, Papyrus would have made a preemptive attack by now. Anyone dumb enough to follow him is almost certainly planning an ambush, and anyone clumsy enough to get caught deserves what’s coming to them. He wouldn’t kill them right off, or at all if he could scare them off safely; but he’d give them some puncture wounds to remember him by next time they decide to get any clever ideas.

Papyrus can control his attacks to the precision of a single HP. It’s not a stretch to bring someone down right next to death and let them dangle there for a while before he decides whether to knock them out and return them to someone who loves them, or heal them at the expense of his own energy, so they’ll owe him a favor later on down the line.

Speaking literally, the human _could_ be planning an ambush, but they didn’t attack Sans when he was actively trying to kill them, and they didn’t attack him earlier today before Papyrus arrived. Papyrus is willing to give them the benefit of the doubt. He turns to face mostly away from where they probably are and waits for them to get curious and come out.

And he waits.

And waits some more.

How long can he get away with standing casually in the middle of nowhere with his hands in his pockets before the kid decides he’s braindead? Should he make some excuse so they know he’s not just hanging around like a creep?

Next time, he’s bringing a dog treat. He won’t actually smoke in front of a kid with fleshy lungs because what if they start choking and die, but a smoke break is a decent excuse to be out here, right? Sure. Or he could be coming out for a break from town. That would be weird, the kid’s gotta know that the woods aren’t safe by now, but they don’t know that he knows that.

…aren’t they bored by now? Papyrus isn’t doing anything interesting. He would know, since he’s bored out of his skull of staring at these trees. Seriously, what does the kid do all day?

After giving it another minute to see if anything develops, Papyrus loiters to his right, towards the edge of the road opposite the kid (but not off of it), and sits down facing the side he thinks the kid is on. Plenty of personal space for them to not be alarmed by him.

Clearly, someone’s gotta break the impasse, and it’s not gonna be the human.

“wow, i sure am glad skeletons don’t get cold, or this would be a terrible chill hangout zone,” Papyrus says, just to open with something he might possibly say out loud to himself in any reality. “super lucky that i can come here to _peacefully relax_ in a _nonviolent_ way. what a blessing. i love being cool and laidback and not prone to attacking people.”

Spoken like a genuine human…maybe. According to Sans, the kid isn’t particularly subtle.

Okay, he might be laying it on a little thick. That was kind of a weird thing to say out of nowhere, after having hung out in basically the same place with intermittent walking for an hour. But he doesn’t want the kid to miss it, right?

They’ll get out of a lot of potential problems if they get the idea early that he’s not here to hurt them, even if they do end up thinking he’s kind of a weirdo. An ounce of first impression is worth a pound of cure, right? Worst case scenario, they’ll realize he’s talking to them, and maybe quit hiding because he already knows that they’re there.

No dice, seems like. The forest is quiet.

Well, that’s fair enough. They’ve only seen him twice; they might need a bit to build up the confidence to confront him, even if he is both nonaggressive and trespassing on their turf. They’ll have to come out eventually, either to make friends like they have with the other guards or to boot him out of their space. It’s just a game of patience.

Great. Patience. Really Papyrus’s strong point.

He’s already fidgeting.

Well, good thing kids aren’t really good at sitting and doing nothing, right? They’ll come out sooner or later. Now, to think of a puzzle for when they do…

* * *

The kid does not come out sooner nor later.

You’d think that the kid who went out of their way to make friends with every single guard (up to and including Sans, who introduced himself by maiming them) would be totally cool with strolling up to a stranger who’s clearly not here to hurt them. He’s made it obvious that he’s nonaggressive, which really oughta put him a step above everyone else, right? You’d think they’d introduce themself to Papyrus just like they have with apparently anyone else, _right_?

Wrong. You would think wrong.

Papyrus has had enough time to come up with a dozen more puzzle ideas, reject eleven of them, and start thinking about a puzzle he might actually use, and the kid. Hasn’t. Moved. Not an inch. They’re just…watching him.

Kind of a creepy little kid.

Well, that, or they’re precocious. Not like they haven’t been burned before. Specifically by a skeleton monster. Who brought them below 1 HP, which should definitely have killed them.

Normally a kid wouldn’t have that kind of real-world experience, but with this one, yeah. Papyrus can kinda see why they might not be jumping to introduce themself. He’s not feeling snubbed at all about it. They don’t even know him well enough to snub him.

After two hours, the kiddo brought something out of their inventory that sounded like paper, so they might be reading or writing something. That makes them probably literate, at least. Or they’re playing tic-tac-toe with themself.

Damn it, tic-tac-toe. Papyrus should’ve thought of that. Maybe with some kind of tile puzzle component…? Timers? Spikes? No spikes. Dull spikes? No, what the fuck, that would hurt way worse. At least sharp things impale you quickly. Quick means it hurts less, right? Papyrus doesn’t have flesh, he doesn’t know. Splintering a bone slowly would be worse than breaking it quick and clean, and that’s all he’s got vis a vis wounding speed references.

Wasn’t there some human left his enemies halfway impaled and let them fall under their own weight until the spike they were on killed them? Would using spikes at all be culturally insensitive because of that? Or would it be comforting and nostalgic?

Well, they haven’t complained about Sans’s spike traps. Not that they’d be able to, given that they haven’t spoken with anyone but the teens for longer than it took to convince them that the kid isn’t human. The dogi haven’t said if the “weird puppy” even said anything useful, just that they expanded their minds.

To be fair, it is kind of wild that dogs can pet other dogs. Papyrus would focus on that, too.

Anyway. The kid. The kid is still just…around. And so is Papyrus. But if he’s around much longer, Sans might think he’s run into trouble and come to investigate—he’s already been here a while.

Clearly, the timeline on them coming to him is gonna be a bit longer than he’d have liked. That, or he somehow hasn’t made it obvious enough that they can come out of the woods and say hi to him. He’s clearly better friendship material than the monsters who have actively tried to kill them.

Sure, Sans is the one who could sell ice to a snowman, but Papyrus isn’t so terribly awkward that life-or-death combat should be more appealing than a peaceful introduction to him. He’s even open to meeting them in a non-stabby context knowing that they’re human.

Maybe he should make that clearer…? And offer more bribes. Bribery works on kids, right?

…should he even be treating them like a kid? They’ve been living by the rules adults live by, hunted by Sans and dodging between the less-sane monsters of the outwoods. If they paid taxes, they would basically be a citizen. Is it, like, rude or something to act like they’re just like a monster child when they clearly aren’t?

They haven’t killed anyone, though. After their first kill, they’d be graduated automatically by law, but…the kid’s a pacifist. That means they’re still a kid. Human or not, they’re not actually fully grown. Someone’s gotta look out for them, and whoever it was on the Surface obviously dropped the ball. Papyrus is actually one of their better bets at this point—he and Sans are probably the best option they’re gonna get, barring a miracle.

He’s just gotta convince them of that.

He has no idea how the hell the kid is finding food out here, so he’s gonna keep on with that. Maybe drop a couple of hints about how it would be totally cool for some hypothetical person to drop by and say hi to him, and he definitely would not vaporize this hypothetical person, unlike some monsters he could name?

Or he could take it at their pace and let them actually get comfortable with him before he works on coaxing them out of the woods. He just doesn’t want them getting themself killed in the meantime—Sans would never forgive himself for losing the last human SOUL.

On the other hand, if Papyrus and Sans are gonna eventually collect the kid’s SOUL without killing them violently, that means the kid _has_ to trust at least one of them to be there when they die. And, optimistically, they should trust the brother in question enough to actually offer their SOUL, if everything goes right and they die because they got too old to live anymore, or they get sick or something. Anyway, they need to not die early on from a swift killing in the middle of nowhere. Which is what’s gonna happen if they just live in the woods forever, DETERMINATION or not.

How much trust does Papyrus have to get with them before they’ll accept a bone attack or two, just to protect themself with? Or a flare, to send out a signal if they get into trouble?

More than he’s got right now, obviously. They need to be willing to talk to him before he can start with any real planning. He needs a better grip on their situation.

Alright. He’s gonna go home and check in with Sans, and he’ll try again tomorrow. At least while the kiddo’s watching him, he can be sure they’re not getting into trouble. As long as he keeps at it, he’ll get ‘em in the end.

Papyrus flips his sketchbook shut on his puzzle designs and idle doodles, and stretches slowly and widely before getting up. No need to startle anybody.

Wait, you’re supposed to tell kids you’re gonna do stuff before you do it, right?

“wow. yawn. i’ve spent way more time here than i meant to…guess it’s time to head back to snowdin.” Do they know what Snowdin is? “…which is the name of the town where i live. this was fun, though. i should come out here more often and hang out on this path. who knows, maybe i’ll meet someone cool here someday.”

Was that a little huff in the bushes? Hard to say.

Well, kid’ll get what he’s going for, right? Even if they get that he’s talking to them, it’s not like he’s being threatening. Just a little nudge-nudge-wink-wink way of telling them that he’d be down to hang out again, maybe slightly more in-person next time. If they get used to the idea that he knows they’re there and hasn’t dragged them out of hiding, that’s a good first step to getting them to come out themself, right?

Yeah. That sounds fine. As long as he speaks with some plausible deniability to play along with their hiding, they’ll probably be reassured by him acknowledging that they’re spending cool new buddy time together. That seems good. He’ll just…hint around them.

“well, i bet it’s time for cool dudes like me to be getting to bed. i’m super tired after doing all that nothing all day. i sure love staring at the treeline. now i’m just gonna take a shortcut home and go to bed, like everyone should be doing at this time of night. goodnight, woods,” Papyrus says. Look at him, putting the kid to bed. He’s practically a good role model.

…oh, boy. _please, kid, don’t ever think of me as a role model._ Maybe they’ll start copying Sans, once they get to know him. That would be adorable and less child-endangerment-charge-y.

With an exaggerated stretch, Papyrus walks down the path just far enough to be out of sight before he shortcuts home. Time to talk to Sans and spend half the night as a sounding wall for backup plans with their own backup plans, just in case.

Day 1: decent progress, mixed success. Day 2: time to offer some breakfast.

* * *

Frisk is having a disconcerting amount of trouble finding food.

Like, no trouble at all finding food.

Food is almost literally dropping into Frisk’s lap. Also a denim jacket that’s a little too big but very tough, and some shoes that are way too small for their feet but fine to hide some G in, and a decorative pillow, which they’ve put in their cave.

Almost every day, Papyrus will lose a pack or a box filled with random household items, usually food but sometimes stuff Frisk remembers from the depths of the closet in the Fell-From Underground.

They’re not really sure why, but Papyrus seems to fill his inventory with a random assortment of stuff from his house every day, walk out into the woods, and lose it all in one place. Sometimes there are notes about how he wants the stuff to be safe and cared for by a benevolent person, so obviously he wants it back, since he’s the only pacifist Frisk has met so far…but why keep bringing it out of his house? Why, when he can’t keep track of it?

At first, Frisk tried to return Papyrus’s lost objects to him. Sometimes people misplace things, and they usually like Frisk better after they’ve returned them. Sometimes they’ll give Frisk gifts for the errand.

But every time, Papyrus would just look at his lost items, sitting innocuously in the middle of the path, and sigh sadly before putting them in his inventory and taking something else out. The new thing would inevitably get lost at some point on his walk, and it would start again.

After the lost items started being dropped closer and closer to the treeline, Frisk started taking a single item from each lost pack. Mostly because they recognized that pillow. It was Frisk’s pillow, in another world. They’d meant to return it the next day, or maybe the one after that, but…

Papyrus looked really pleased, when he’d discovered the remaining items in the center of the path, packed up neatly. He’d looked happy even though it was obvious that something was missing, instead of looking kind of disappointed and sad.

So Frisk started taking one thing every time, after that. Since Frisk needs to eat to live, they’re pretty happy with that situation, too.

They’ve got a sort of system worked out—Frisk won’t take much of whatever Papyrus loses, and Papyrus doesn’t try to hunt them down and kill them for stealing from him. They’re not really sure what Papyrus gets out of this deal, and most of their best guesses don’t really make any sense, but their tentative truce has worked out so far.

On the spectrum of Weird Papyrus Stuff they’ve seen in their worlds, losing items for fun barely registers—they’ll start worrying if he gets to breaking physics again.

Their latest find, now, is a water-damaged cardboard box with half a bag of cereal and some sandwiches in it, tucked in with a couple of spider ciders. The cereal and the ciders look like they’ve been sitting in somebody’s closet for a while, but the sandwiches look like they might have been made this morning.

Frisk is maybe halfway sure that Papyrus knows someone is watching him, and a hundred percent sure he knows someone is finding his lost stuff and bringing it back to him. After all, lost things don’t usually migrate into obvious areas in the center of the road by themselves.

Maybe the food is like a toll for Frisk always bringing his stuff back, or like a protection fee for how they’re watching out for him?

To be fair, Papyrus does seem to need protecting, if only from himself.

This world’s Papyrus is kind of quiet, and even with several layers of clothing, he seems…small. Maybe it’s that he doesn’t have anything padding his shoulders, or Cozy Papyrus’s hoodie for added bulk.

He’s still way taller than Frisk, but compared to Real Papyrus, or to Dancing World Papyrus, he looks slight and nondescript. His gold canines are a little like Red Sans’s, but without the aggression in his eye, he’s not the same. His presence doesn’t feel… _heavy_ , like it should.

He has thusly been named Skinny Papyrus, because Scrawny Papyrus seemed rude, even just in Frisk’s head. Surely, even if he seems smallish and breakable, he must be tough—all Papyri are tough. Skinny Papyrus is just…quietly tough. In a subtle way.

Please, let him be as tough as the he always is, deep down. Frisk’s heart can’t take it if he isn’t.

Being quiet and slight does have some advantages, though. If Frisk isn’t careful, he sneaks up on them, sometimes. He hasn’t caught them yet, but they’re not sure if that means he couldn’t, if he really tried.

Frisk isn’t really sure what to make of it.

At first, when they’d watched over him for an afternoon, they’d kind of thought Papyrus would try to kill them. Black Sans tried to kill them, after all, and Papyrus is always more ready to FIGHT Frisk than Sans is.

But Skinny Papyrus just sorta drifted around on the path, scratching something out in a notebook, and eventually Frisk settled in and took out their notebook, too. They could protect him just fine while writing about exactly what Blue Sans’s gloves felt like that time they spent an afternoon investigating them.

Then, he left to take a shortcut home (which is good, because Frisk knows he got home safe, but confusing, because Papyrus doesn’t usually know how to take shortcuts?), and he didn’t find where they left his lunch until the next day. Then, disappointed sigh, new item, and another nice day with their new…almost-friend? Prospective friend? Ward?

Frisk likes hanging out with Skinny Papyrus. Even though they’re just there to make sure no one comes by and kills him, it’s almost peaceful. They have to work very hard not to relax and maybe take a nap.

Instead, they keep watch. Which is a lot like just hanging out, but with extra anticipation for ambush.

It can get kind of boring, in the sense that not getting attacked is actually kind of more stressful than being attacked because what if they let their guard down and get careless and Skinny Papyrus dies while they’re not paying attention? But it also makes them feel a little warm inside, like he’s coming all the way out here just to hang out with them.

It’s hard not to feel safe, with Papyrus around. Even if this Papyrus doesn’t protect himself, Frisk likes it when he visits them. Spending time with him while they write and he does whatever he does in his notebook is the happiest they’ve felt in this world, so far. It’s not at all like being back home, but it kind of feels like familiar, anyway. Like those nights when Real Papyrus would fill out reports and Red Sans would be locked up in his room or watching MTTTV with Frisk or, very rarely, cooking edible food.

The nights when it was just Frisk and Papyrus, he’d sometimes give them a puzzle to work while he did his paperwork. Those nights were quiet and peaceful like afternoons with Skinny Papyrus are. Not safe, but not interrupted with an attack just yet.

Frisk hopes that one day Black Sans will join them and Skinny Papyrus, and they can all spend time together. They hope for it a lot.

In the meantime, Frisk has been protecting Skinny Papyrus, since he won’t do it himself.

They’ve started clearing the woods near the path before he arrives, snarling and stomping around until they don’t hear movement sounds in the underbrush anymore. They don’t want anyone to see that Skinny Papyrus comes out to the woods to let his guard down. Especially not when he looks like he’s all alone.

At the same time, they don’t want to leave the cover of the forest to be right next to him, because getting seen being friendly with a human could be the thing that triggers the first attack on Skinny Papyrus.

Also, they haven’t met him yet, really, and even if he does know someone is watching over him, he has no way of knowing right now that it’s Frisk, a human. They don’t want him to get in trouble with Black Sans or the other monsters if he doesn’t try to capture them, and they don’t want to FIGHT him if he does.

They are running low on notebook paper, though, and Skinny Papyrus always has a notebook of some sort with him.

They’re kind of thinking of sneaking a note into the next lost item to ask if maybe he has any extras lying around. Would that be too much? Maybe direct communication would violate their unspoken truce…would he be upset that they made it obvious that they’re stealing his stuff? Or would he be happy to talk to someone, because he seems really lonely?

Speaking of. Now that Frisk has returned from their latest round clearing the woods, they can see him here today, leaning against a tree, a few yards away from where the box of food is nestled just out of view of the road. He’s got his skull tilted back like he’s watching the sky, except that there’s no sky to watch.

Frisk, with their stolen(?) denim jacket in their arms, sneaks a sandwich into their inventory and scouts for a good vantage point for today—the trees have deep, probably-magical shadows between them that keep people on the road from really seeing into the forest, but let anyone in the forest see out onto the path. The ideal hiding place is between two close trees, so they can stay in the shadows, and maybe some underbrush nearby if they can find it.

Today, there’s a spot right next to Real Papyrus that looks just about perfect—it’s closer to the road than Frisk would like, but densely packed with _three_ whole trees, and a guarding bush, _and_ a snow poff! The bush should be enough to obscure Skinny Papyrus’s view of them alone, and the snow poff is in a good spot for them to duck behind. Skinny Papyrus always chooses places without a lot of traps to go hang out in, so their perfect spot might not even be a decoy.

He’s right there next to the forest’s edge, though. Frisk will have to be very quiet today.

Frisk sets their feet very carefully, trying to minimize the crunching noises of shoes on snow as they creep closer. Closer. Closer still. As they get into a conversational distance with Skinny Papyrus, they get on their hands and knees to make their footsteps even quieter.

They shuffle into the cover of the bush—there’s enough space for a small human under its branches, and not much else.

They could almost reach out and touch Skinny Papyrus, they’re so close. They’re at a polite hanging-out distance for two people who aren’t hiding from each other, which is alarmingly close for someone who it hiding from their chill hangout partner. Frisk breathes very carefully, and watches Skinny Papyrus intently for any reaction.

This hiding spot is really good for what they’re doing, actually. It’s close enough that they could dash quickly and tackle Skinny Papyrus, who they’re pretty sure would go down like a badly-assembled scarecrow, if someone launches an attack at him while he’s not looking. As long as they’re really alert, they can definitely get to him before he could get hurt. And they’ll know if someone sneaks up, even if they get distracted, because Frisk will already be in the perfect sneaking position.

Maybe they’ll even be close enough to see what he’s doing in his notebook today?

Frisk puts the denim jacket, which is most useful as insulation, on the snow in their newfound hiding spot, and carefully pats it down before they move to sit on it. If they pat it down gently enough, it doesn’t crunch very much.

They still freeze as they settle on it with a tiny shifting sound that they can’t avoid. They’re really close to Skinny Papyrus, now, with only a little foliage between them and him.

Luckily, the sound of Frisk hiding seems to be covered up by Skinny Papyrus shifting in place, sliding to sit on the ground and flipping loudly in his notebook. It doesn’t have any lines on its paper, Frisk notes.

“jeez, being a sentry is boring,” Skinny Papyrus mutters to himself, still wiggling to get comfortable as Frisk does the same. His unlit dog treat is still stuck in his teeth, just sitting there. “…and lonely. sure would be nice to have someone to talk to.”

He’s started talking to himself a lot more since the first time they saw him. It’s gotten to the point where he’s making more of a monologue than individual comments. Frisk thinks he’s getting lonely because he spends so much time out in the paths near the woods with no one around but Frisk, who he can’t see or talk to.

_Maybe go back and talk to your brother_ , Frisk tries to think at him. _Or go to Grillby’s! Or Muffet’s! Or find Undyne and meet her!_

They wouldn’t mind missing a day or two of hanging out if it meant Skinny Papyrus was less lonely. And not endangering himself. Frisk would miss every hangout if it meant Skinny Papyrus would stay safe.

He also seems… _really_ lonely. Even for a Papyrus. He’s _really_ _lonely_.

They’re pretty sure Skinny Papyrus hasn’t met his Undyne yet, because even Cozy Papyrus and Weird Undyne were the kind of pair you’d hear from across the Underground. Not to mention the fire. Every Undyne sets things on fire when encouraged by a Papyrus. Maybe if Skinny Papyrus met her, he wouldn’t talk about how much he wishes he could have friends all the time.

Once they’re friends with Sans and Papyrus, Frisk is definitely going to introduce them to Undyne somehow. They’ll make it happen.

“yep. i’d love to have a cool new friend,” Skinny Papyrus continues, which is just proving that Frisk is right. “that would be super great. we could make friendship bracelets and not try to kill each other. braid each other’s hair. play nonlethal snow hopscotch.”

Frisk is not sure why every Papyrus they’ve ever met seems convinced that he has hair. But! Undyne’s hair is a good braiding length.

Frisk kind of wants to learn how to braid hair, too. They’ve never really tried.

“of course, my new friend would have to be pretty special,” Skinny Papyrus says. “i have a lot of complex feelings that i would want to bond over. it would be really nice if i could meet someone who understands.”

He sighs, audibly, by saying “sigh.” Then he continues.

“that feeling of being on your own in a scary world where everyone wants to kill you…the feeling of, maybe, finding someone who seems like a pretty chill dude and doesn’t totally want to kill you…? maybe feelings like…peace and friendship? mercy? if only i could meet someone who understands these complex emotions that i feel,” Skinny Papyrus laments. “if only a person like that could somehow find me and introduce themself, so we can be buds. i wish that would happen sometime, like, maybe now.”

He pauses.

“…or not now. oh, the suffering of papyrus the skeleton, chill dude and all-around great friendship candidate, but cursed to eternally wander around the woods, wishing for a cool new friend. if only someone could possibly save me from this misery.”

Hearing a genuine Papyrus monologue is kind of soothing, in Frisk’s opinion. Skinny Papyrus’s monologues started out very subdued, but as time goes on, he’s gotten more theatrical with them. Frisk thinks he’s enjoying himself.

It’s been too long since Papyrisk monologue at them through pre-prepared flashcards and extremely expressive body language, and even longer since Dancing Papyrus’s dancing monologue; they’ve missed this. Of course, normally he’d be monologuing _at_ them, or at least aware that they’re listening, but it doesn’t seem to make much of a difference in terms of tone. Or content, really—loneliness seems to be a universal Papyrus problem.

Skinny Papyrus pauses, half-turns, and scans the treeline, probably making sure that nobody caught him monologuing to himself all alone.

Frisk is absolutely still as his head turns subtly, looking past them.

Skinny Papyrus’s shoulders slump.

“welp. since i’m so lonely and all, and nobody is coming to save me from being totally alone in the world, i’m just gonna stay here for a little while, being totally harmless, like always. maybe take a nap.” He stretches out luxuriously, paying absolutely no attention to the fact that he’s in public and he could be killed in a second for his inattention.

Skinny Papyrus looks really comfortable. Frisk could just curl up, too…

No! Bad! This is how people die! Frisk pinches their arm, hard, and takes 1 HP of damage.

That wakes them up. Ow. They hadn’t meant to do it that hard.

“if somebody did come up to me, i’d be really ready to make friends with them,” continues Skinny Papyrus, oblivious. “i wouldn’t even try to kill them first, unlike pretty much everyone else they’d have met, which you’d think would make me a better friendship candidate than feral teens and actual crazies. i would totally introduce myself to me first before trying any of those people. i am an extremely cool dude.”

He leans against the tree, continuing to watch nothing in particular overhead, and gestures absently with his hands.

“i would probably start out by saying something like, ‘hi, i’m papyrus, i’m a puzzle lover and all-around smart and nice dude who’s got great shoulders to lean on and could probably help my new friends with some of their problems,’” he says. “and then we’d be great pals in a totally nonlethal sense, and i could introduce my new little buddy to all my favorite people and we’d all get along swell with very low stress. the amount of pacing and conspiracy boards in my life would go way down. oh, what a life.”

His face is a study in wistfulness, and one hand comes to rest on his chest. Frisk kind of wants to take a picture to capture the sheer theatrics.

“wouldn’t that be nice? but i guess i can wait a little longer, being sad, by myself. it’s really a shame that nobody in the world is even willing to talk to me a little, but that’s ok. i’m used to it,” Skinny Papyrus says. He shuffles to sit sideways with his shoulder against his tree, leaving his back wide open to the entire path to Snowdin, where anyone could come from and shoot an attack at him before he knew what hit him.

Frisk saw somebody impaled like that once. Well, the same somebody, several times.

And now Skinny Papyrus is directly facing Frisk’s hiding place.

Oh, no.

Frisk begins to back very, very slowly and very, very carefully away from their hiding spot. Just. Easing a little deeper behind cover. He’s not looking right at them, just in their general direction. They just need to get a liiiiittle deeper into the shadows. Just for comfort’s sake.

But keeping an eye on Skinny Papyrus, they don’t see a branch of the bush they’re hiding in get caught in one of the loose knots in their sweater. The leaves shift with a _shhft_ sound, and snow gets dumped on their head.

Frisk freezes, staring out at Skinny Papyrus.

Skinny Papyrus stares back at the bush.

He could reach out and touch them, if he just leaned forwards to do it. The dark shroud of the forest keeps them safe from being spotted by anyone on the path, but he’s so close to it himself…is he too close? Can he see them or not?

He’s looking right at them…

Then Skinny Papyrus shrugs, turns his back to the tree again, and leans against it like a cool guy in a high school anime. Frisk watches, but he doesn’t look back at them.

He shifts his unlit dog treat in his mouth and tilts his skull against the tree’s dark bark, just like how he was before.

Slowly, agonizingly, Frisk reaches over their shoulder to the snagged branch. They can feel the knot, and the part of the branch that got caught in it, but it’s too close behind them to see. The snow is melting into their hair like sweat—there’s not a lot of it, but their hair is gonna freeze at the tips.

As they feel around the snag, they can see a branch making tiny movements—it’s one that goes directly over their head, bent into a slight bow from their retreat. That must be the one that got caught. It jostled a couple of other branches into dumping their snow. Anyone looking at the bush will see that part of it is suspiciously snow-free on the top.

Frisk’s skin tingles. They should retreat. They should move from here. It’s not a good place to hide anymore.

Skinny Papyrus starts humming. He’s _right there_. He practically looked at them. He might not be very good at staying alive, but that doesn’t mean he’s stupid.

But…it’s Papyrus. He’s not gonna hurt them. Or, he could, but he hasn’t yet and Frisk doesn’t think that’s going to change. He’s just humming and looking at the cave ceiling. And they haven’t been so close to someone since…uh. For a while.

The World Best Left Forgotten, when they made Sfrisks push them out of it? No, it was…Temmie, from this world. They stood right next to Temmie. And Sans got pretty close when he kept killing them—they fell down and rolled into him that one time. That was close.

But they’re still in the perfect hiding spot and comfortably close to Skinny Papyrus and they kinda don’t really want to move if they don’t have to.

…they can protect him better from up close. What if someone attacks him? Frisk can help more if they’re right here. And, they want to look over his shoulder at his notebook—when are they gonna get another chance?

Frisk’s fingers curl gently around the branch, and they ease it off of the knot in their sweater. With painstaking delicacy, they bring it quietly back to its resting position.

They inch slowly, slowly back to their perfect spot, and settle back onto the denim jacket. They pat it to apologize for almost leaving it behind. It’s a new friend, but it’s served them well. They didn’t mean to abandon it.

Skinny Papyrus is still humming, totally unaffected. It’s like he doesn’t have any situational awareness at all—if Frisk weren’t his friend, he would be dead.

He could die. Anyone could get right next to him and he could die, humming idly and looking up like he can see the sky. Frisk would come across his dust and they’d be able to read all of his notebook if they wanted but it wouldn’t matter because he would be dead. They’d have to RESET and then Black Sans would want to kill them all over again, and it would be like they never spent time with Skinny Papyrus at all, and all of their friends wouldn’t know them anymore.

No. It’s okay. It isn’t just anyone who’s close like this—it’s Frisk, and Frisk would never-never-never hurt him.

Skinny Papyrus didn’t see them. They can just watch him from up close, and it’s almost like they’re hanging out together. He’s very nearly within arm’s reach of them, if they were to reach through the bush. They can reach him. But he didn’t see them. They just have to be very quiet, and it’s okay.

Frisk relaxes, sitting tight on their jacket—ready to move, but also ready to stay.

Skinny Papyrus is smiling, seeming oddly satisfied for someone who just talked at length about how sad and alone he is and then nearly died, but maybe he’s happy because that was a really good monologue. It tugged at Frisk’s heartstrings.

They really need to get Black Sans to reconcile with him first thing, and then he can have a brother, which is even better than having a friend because brothers protect each other and Black Sans won’t let him die all alone out here with just Frisk to watch him.

If Red Sans were Skinny Papyrus’s brother, he’d never let him out of the house. Not when he’s like this. He’d lock him in the secret basement bunker Frisk never got to go into until Skinny Papyrus was ready to start acting like he didn’t want to die. And then he’d maybe try to make Skinny Papyrus kill some people just to boost his stats.

…if Real Papyrus were here, he would tell Skinny Papyrus why what he was doing was bad and wrong and not to ever do it again, and then he’d pat him on the head, being careful of his claws, and say something quiet about how it’s not Skinny Papyrus’s fault for wanting things to be different, but they aren’t different, and he has to be safe. It’s most important for him to know how to keep himself safe, more than anything, because what if some day Real Papyrus isn’t around anymore and he’s all alone? What if Real Papyrus has to go away and leave him? It’s a dangerous world. It’s not wrong to not want to hurt anyone, but bad things happen, and he cares too much about him to let him be helpless.

Then Real Papyrus would rattle all over, once, and that would be the end of the conversation. And then Skinny Papyrus could ask later how to not scare Real Papyrus like that again and Real Papyrus would teach him how to use bone attacks, and make sure he had his phone number in case of an emergency or in case he got lonely or lost, and make him inedible Italian food with glass shards and terrifying amounts of vinegar in it.

It’s monster food, so it would heal the glass cuts as soon as they got made. Skinny Papyrus would be fine. Besides, he doesn’t have flesh to cut.

…he also probably already knows how to use bone attacks. And he, he really has to know already why what he’s doing is scary to the people who care about him. He’s just acting like this because he thinks he’s alone. If he thought there were any danger, he would be more alert. He hasn’t died yet. He has to be more than he seems.

Blue Sans would look at Skinny Papyrus like he was making him sad and concerned and then tell him about something fun and great until he smiled, and maybe sorta reach out like he wanted to touch him, and then stop for a second, and then reach out again but slower and gentle with his soft blue gloves, and he wouldn’t stop moving if Skinny Papyrus flinched, but he’d let him get away if he wanted to. He wouldn’t ever stop reaching out, though. If Skinny Papyrus could just convince himself to stay very very very still, Blue Sans would catch up to him with carefully controlled force and he wouldn’t make him regret it even though he could.

Cozy Papyrus would panic unproductively for a second and sorta flutter his hands like he wanted to do something with them but couldn’t quite figure out a direction to put them in, and then set his shoulders and try awkwardly to talk to him until his sheer sincerity got through despite his mumbling and backtracking and they felt closer as friends afterwards. And then he’d ask Blue Sans if he did okay afterwards when he thought Skinny Papyrus wasn’t listening, and Blue Sans would tell him he did amazing because he is amazing, and sometimes all you need to do is be there and try hard and let the people you love know that you love them, and Cozy Papyrus would shuffle around and say isn’t it weird to love someone after only knowing them for a little while, and Blue Sans would say that love is part of being a monster as much as magic is, as much as Frisk always heard LOVE and dust are, and the brothers would understand each other and not fight because they love each other very much.

Shy Sans would…Shy Sans would know what to do. Shy Sans is good at posture and paying attention to how things look, and he would show Skinny Papyrus what not getting killed looks like, patiently, again and again, and he would make jokes when he got it wrong and smile wide and encouraging when he got anything even a little right until Skinny Papyrus was doing _everything_ right and barely noticed himself learning. Then he would teach him how to not get killed while looking like that’s not what he’s doing, and—

and—

_That’s_ it!

Oh, Frisk has been kind of stupid.

Shy Sans was really good at making one thing look like another thing. He showed Frisk how to make escaping a pin look like a fun little twirl, and watching a threat look like idly spacing out, and looking for exits look like bored glancing around, and he didn’t tell them not to do those things because he seemed to get that they were important, but he showed them how to make staying safe seem more subtle to other monsters. Shy Sans was really scared of crowds and didn’t really like strangers, but Frisk had no idea until he said so, because he was so good at fooling them! Even though he looked careless and lazy, he wasn’t really like that at all!

Well. Maybe a little lazy. But fun-lazy and not gonna-die-lazy. It’s a vital difference.

And Skinny Papyrus must be the same way. That explains _everything_.

He’s not _really_ looking up at nothing—Glyde flies, and he’s the closest monster that lives nearby, especially once Frisk has scared off the wandering monsters in the trees—which he can hear, because all the little moving sounds in the forest are quiet.

He has his back against the tree so no one can sneak up on him. He’s close to the forest line, right next to the perfect hiding spot, so he can duck into the shadows if someone appears. He leaves out food and stuff to tell if anyone is in his space—if it’s really safe and empty, the food would be untouched even though it’s valuable healing items. He didn’t like when his food didn’t disappear because he must have felt eyes on him, and he didn’t like that he couldn’t tell for sure how many people were there! But then Frisk started taking one thing every day—he knew one person was there, because there’s no way multiple monsters would share one healing item when there’s a whole bunch right there.

Skinny Papyrus isn’t stupid and in danger. Skinny Papyrus is _really, really_ smart. And maybe still kind of lonely, but he’s not gonna die. He’s okay! Of course he is. He hasn’t died yet, and Black Sans obviously isn’t protecting him, so of _course_ he has to be wilier than he seems. Frisk can’t believe they didn’t even consider it.

That’s okay. It’s okay. It’s still weird that he comes out to the woods to complain about being lonely, but being smart doesn’t mean he has a lot of friends—Cozy Papyrus and Dancing Papyrus had the same problem. It’s just, Skinny Papyrus pretends not to be paying attention when he really is. That’s good, that’s okay. Frisk was totally snowed, which is a little embarrassing and nobody can ever know, but this is a good thing.

It does probably mean that he knows exactly where Frisk is, and only pretended not to see them.

But…he hasn’t attacked yet? So that’s, maybe okay?

Maybe it’s because he’s lonely—that makes sense. He’s so lonely that he’s okay with Frisk watching him, because they’re one person and also they haven’t even come close to hurting him, or maybe he talked with Black Sans and they got through to him a little about maybe not trying to kill people all the time, or something.

He can’t really trust Frisk, obviously, because he doesn’t know them. But he trusts them to be close to him. He keeps coming out even though he knows Frisk is watching him.

Maybe he likes hanging out with them, too…?

Frisk is definitely leaving a note with the food box today. Then he can come out tomorrow and read it, and maybe they can start sending him notes for fun? And maybe, they can be friends already, even though Frisk hasn’t finished making friends with everyone else yet? Like pen-pals?

And then, once Frisk has made friends with Black Sans and Gyftrot and everyone else in Snowdin and Skinny Papyrus won’t get in trouble for talking to them, they can come out in person and be not-pen pals. Or maybe, even before then? If Skinny Papyrus can take care of himself, then he can probably decide whether he’s safe to talk to them publicly or not. Oh, wow, Frisk is really relieved not to have to be in charge of that anymore.

Real Papyrus did nearly get executed for being Frisk’s friend because Undyne got mad about it…but! He didn’t! She never killed him, even once! Because they’re good friends! Which would solve Skinny Papyrus’s loneliness problem, too. Frisk can introduce him to Undyne and he can maybe convince her not to kill them!

No other Papyrus has been able to do it, but there’s a first time for everything. And then Skinny Papyrus won’t be lonely anymore, because Frisk will tell Black Sans to be better to his brother and he’ll be friends with Undyne. It’s perfect.

Maybe they won’t even have to tell Black Sans anything—maybe Black Sans is just playing along with Skinny Papyrus pretending to be careless. Maybe he and Skinny Papyrus are great brothers! Maybe they love each other very much, like every Sans and Papyrus do, and they don’t get snarled up and backwards in it like the Fell-From brothers. It’s all just play pretend that they don’t know each other very well. Yes, that makes sense. That makes way more sense than anything else.

Chara can stop feeling like Frisk is crazy any time now. Frisk is just putting things together now and it totally makes more sense this way. The part where this conclusion has all the things they like best is just a happy coincidence.

Skinny Papyrus hums a vaguely familiar tune and leans against his tree, not smoking his dog treat and keeping watch up above exactly like he has been, like Frisk didn’t have a massive revelation about him from an arm’s length away.

He looks calm and a little out of it, but now that Frisk is watching for it, his arms are loose and free to direct an attack at a moment’s notice, and his head is tilted just enough that their hiding spot is in his peripheral vision. And Papyrus has really sharp hearing, too—if anyone came down the path, he would know. He’s not helpless. He can watch his own back. He can probably watch Frisk’s, too.

This is what they’re used to. Papyrus isn’t supposed to be weak and clueless. Papyrus is sharp when he needs to be and gentle when he remembers he can be and always sharper than he lets on. They can’t believe they fell for it—they know him! They know several of him! That was so silly of them. But it just means that Skinny Papyrus is really good, to have fooled someone who knew what to expect. That’s good. That means he’s safe.

Frisk should have had faith in him from the start. He’s their brother and he’s really tough and really smart. Now, they’re even prouder of him—it’s like they’re in on a joke that nobody knows except him and maybe Sans, and they get to watch him play it. It’s just like when Frisk cowers to make weaker monsters feel better, except all the time, and probably less about making people feel better about themselves and more about being able to surprise-kill people who think he’s weak.

Maybe that’s even why Black Sans called him a pacifist that one time—just part of the ploy. Black Sans would never want to hurt his brother. No Sans would want to hurt his brother. But conspiring with his brother, that’s just fine. That’s a good prank to play on anyone who wants to hurt them. Maybe it—oh, it definitely _was_ for Frisk, because Black Sans knew they were there! And they totally fell for it!

Their brothers are so smart. If Frisk didn’t know them already, they would have kept thinking Skinny Papyrus wasn’t the dangerous one. So he would have been safe on the paths, not just because he’s good at keeping himself safe, but also because Frisk has been taking care of it for him by scaring everyone away every day. Because they’re human and they can scare people, and of course they want to protect him, because he looks so, so…not-scary. Even his spikes just look like a fragile shell around their brother.

Frisk has been totally played. Oh, boy, that’s a little sad how easy they fell for it.

Frisk can’t help a little grin as they take their notebook out of their inventory. They’re definitely gonna write a note asking for more paper and thanking Skinny Papyrus for the food and the pillow and shoes and jacket, and if he seems to like that note, they can ask if he’ll please be their friend and maybe even hang out in person, if he thinks it’s okay?

And then they’ll be his friend, and then they’ll track down Black Sans and sit on him until he agrees to be their friend, if that’s what it takes, and then they’ll finally be able to make it to Snowdin without having to stop and watch over and/or hide from any skeletons in the area. It’s a flawless plan.

Frisk glances around once more, out of habit, before settling in to write their letter, crossing their legs this time even though it’ll make getting up in a hurry hard. Skinny Papyrus can keep watch for today. After all the times they’ve done it, it’s _definitely_ his turn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slim: PLEASE COME SAY HI  
> Frisk, watching: wow...if only someone would come say hi to him......if only i could somehow...make that happen....on an unrelated note i wish i could talk to him......so sad there are no solutions for any of these problems 😔  
> Frisk: ...........wait a minute
> 
> Y'all don't know how excited I was for this chapter. Also next chapter. And the one after that, and ESPECIALLY the one 3 or 4 chapters out from now. This is one of my favorite parts of the fic :) I'm Love Found Family


	15. One Step Forward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Actually, several steps forward, very rapidly. One may call it a panicked sprint forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I'm a week late on this one--turns out, wisdom tooth surgery involves recovery time, or something. Weird. I'm much better now. In light of that absence, I have an extra treat for you this week! Here goes:
> 
>  **[Chapter 1](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23371141/chapters/55997908) has been rewritten!** I'd suggest going back and rereading that when you have a chance. I'm yet going to rewrite ch2, because when I first wrote it I,, didn't intend to make an actual story out of this? And now that I have, there are some things I want to put back in. You can wait until that happens and read them both if you want, or just check out ch1 this week and ch2 whenever I get around to it. Either way, let's get back to it!

By the time he makes any progress with the human, Papyrus has gotten so used to hanging around the woods and making no headway that he nearly misses it.

He sees the cardboard box he left out yesterday put back in the middle of the road, sitting neatly like it’s meant to be there. Just like every time. He already knows what it’s gonna have in it—half a bag of cereal, some spider cider, and a few sandwiches; minus whichever of those items the human has decided by mysterious human metrics to take. He’s about ready to stick the whole box in his inventory, idly glancing to see which offering they’ve favored, when he sees it.

Tucked neatly between a sandwich and the cereal, there’s a torn piece of notebook paper.

 _an accident…?_ Papyrus wonders. But, no, that doesn’t make any sense. Why would the human accidentally drop a piece of paper into a cardboard box? Why would it have writing on it?

Papyrus drops the box back on the ground and kneels in front of it. The paper is folded in half, torn sloppily. There’s writing on both sides, but the writing on the outside looks old. The graphite is smudged and faded.

Still, Papyrus gives it a glance— _Frisk is MY name,_ it says. _YOU have to pay a name tax and it’s 10000 G MORE than the face tax_

Another line says, in the same handwriting, _Pay up._ It’s underlined and circled several times. Next, a space, and then _You don’t get to have tabs on taxes!!! I asked your bro + he said youre gonna go to bad jokes jail forever for tax evasion._

 _Submit to justice, criminal_ is also underlined with a thick, dark stroke.

If there’s more to that…conversation?…it’s not on the paper. Papyrus can only assume things devolved into violence and the writing was cast aside, further history unrecorded. Tragic.

Whatever it is, it’s not something Papyrus has any context for, so he’s gonna assume it’s just what was on the scrap paper the kid found, and not some kind of coded message to him. Might be a chat between the human and whoever they were with before falling Underground, or something. Maybe the page comes from whatever paper thing they like fiddling around with.

Come to think of it, he can’t say he’s ever met a monster named Frisk. There’s like a 40% chance that he knows the kid’s name now. It’s about time; he’s only announced his own name about a hundred times.

The inside of the note is probably more what’s meant for him, Papyrus deduces cleverly upon seeing that it looks like an actual letter. The font is carefully neater and cleaner, and it reads:

_~~Hi S~~ Hi.  
Thank you for the food. I like it very much. I also like the jacket. It keeps my knees from getting wet. And, I like the pillow, because it is soft and I like the pattern. I did not have a pillow before. Thank you for giving it to me. Also the food, it is good and tasty and I like having it. Please keep bringing food and things if that’s OK with you. It’s OK if you don’t want to though. I will not get mad or hurt you. I think that you are very cool and you should have lots of friends.  
  
Please leave me some paper if you want to. I am out of empty sheets and it is hard to read things that are written over other things. If you would like to write a letter for me I would like that too.  
  
I really like hanging out with you. It makes me happy. I hope that you like hanging out with me too. I promise I will not attack you no matter what, so you don’t have to be scared of me. I really want to be your friend if that is OK. I am a human. Would you still be allright with making friends with me? I know it is dangerous to meet in the open, because you are supposed to kill me and take my SOUL. Would you like to write letters to start out instead? I do not write letters alot because there is no mail Underground except in the mailboxes in front of your house. How do you get mail in those? Who sends the mail? Please let me know if you respond.  
  
You should take care of yourself. Someone out there really cares about you._

There’s no sign-off other than that cryptic statement, but that’s…that’s really progress. Papyrus blinks at the letter.

Well, Sans is gonna be thrilled.

The human thinks he’s _very cool_. That’s…pretty nice. And they want to be his friend—enough to risk telling him that there’s a human SOUL nearby for the taking. It was a reckless move to leave that kind of info around in the open, but it’s a great sign that the kid was willing to fess up. At no prompting from Papyrus, either—he’s barely hinted around the idea of humans more than once or twice. Given the amount of idle conversation he’s had to make with himself, once or twice is basically nothing.

He scans the letter again, turning it over in his mind. _Someone out there really cares about you_. That sticks out, of course. Another good sign, or an insinuation that they know about him and Sans being brothers? A threat wouldn’t really be in keeping with the rest of the letter, but it’s hard to say for sure.

Best news is that the kid’s thanking him for the food and random crap he’s brought out, and they’re apparently confident enough (or want paper badly enough) to make requests. That’s a relationship there. Not, like, besties or anything, but it’s a start. They’re seeing Papyrus as a stable source of resources and they’re establishing communication about it. It doesn’t take much translation to imagine that into a sort of…guardianship? Friendship? They’re at least seeing him as some sort of provider, which is infinitely better than how they must see Sans.

Then again, he shouldn’t get ahead of himself. Papyrus isn’t gonna assume they’re depending on him—they asked him for paper, a luxury, not something like food or shelter or protection.

But they’re willing to give him the power to make their life easier or not to. That’s a huge step in the right direction. Sans is gonna have to throw out half of his worst-case-scenario plots and subplots. With some luck, Papyrus is gonna be able to see the surface of the coffee table soon.

That in itself is worth celebrating.

With another glance at the part about him being really cool (which is kinda nice), Papyrus folds up the paper and sticks it in his inventory for later before inspecting the box for other irregularities.

Looks like a sandwich was the chosen foodstuff this time. He’d wondered if making multiple sandwiches would mean that they all get taken, since they’re technically the same item, but it looks like that’s not gonna fly. Or maybe the kid’s short on inventory space, after adding one thing a day for a while.

Today’s loot was supposed to be a string backpack with a couple of half-used pencils and old paintbrushes, some monster candy, and an old blanket. It’s not too much of a hassle to tear a couple of pages out of his sketchpad and stick them in—he’ll have to bring a spare notebook next time he comes by, because he didn’t think he’d need one today.

Just for shits, he tears out one of the puzzles he’s designed. It’s made of a bunch of little dots with numbers on them for the human to connect into some simple patterns. Mostly the shapes of various bones. The layered ribcage might be a bit advanced, but it’ll look cool when they complete it.

For the human’s benefit, he says out loud, “i’m gonna put some paper in this bag here. that, uh, sound good?”

No one responds. As always. Darn. _guess that one was a bit of a reach_.

“welp. i made some puzzles, so i guess we’re friends now. if you wanted to come out, that would be pretty cool. maybe we could chat in person? it’s like writing letters, but faster, and we can say more than one thing a day.” These sound like winning points to Papyrus.

He hears a pencil scratching on paper by the side of the road, so he at least knows the kid’s around. Nobody leaves the forest, though.

Well, they haven’t run away…? He probably shouldn’t push his luck, but. They did say they think he’s cool, and they want to be friends. They buys him at least a little trust, right?

“i’m just gonna leave this bag over by the side of the road,” he decides. “there’s some paper in it. and a puzzle. if you don’t wanna get out of the woods yet, i get it. it’s pretty scary out here, right? go ahead and grab some paper, we can kinda chat on that instead. or, you can write stuff and i’ll talk. or, i mean, you’re always welcome to come out here. i don’t bite.”

Outside of special circumstances, that is. As his missing teeth can attest, Papyrus is absolutely willing to bite the shit out of someone if he has to.

Papyrus ambles slowly up to the treeline, and tosses the bag into it some.

“uh. by the way. you’re allowed to take more than one thing,” he remembers to add. “like, the bag’s for you. you can have it. and the stuff in the bag. all of that. that’s fine if you want it.”

Then he turns his back on the woods and leans against a convenient tree, pointedly looking upwards and away from any little humans shuffling around.

He’s not really sure what to do now. The kid already kinda knows him, right? They’ve spent plenty of time together. Introducing himself at this point is kind of redundant. Sans’s many plans outline befriending the human, but not what to do if he gets stuck in a one-sided conversation with, presumably, intermittent letter writing.

Well. It’s not like it’ll kill him to introduce himself officially, right?

“my name is papyrus, by the way,” he says. “in case you…missed that. somehow. i’m a skeleton monster?”

Brilliant. Charm like this is why Papyrus is the best possible fit for this job.

“i. live in snowdin. that’s the town near here, i don’t think you’ve gone there yet. i can show you around some time if you ever leave the woods.”

There. That’s an idea—the kid’s been Underground for a minute, but they haven’t ventured far. They must know they need a guide, or at least some information. Papyrus can get started on convincing them to let him show them around some. He is supposed to be their introduction to monster society, after all.

“i can tell you anything you wanna know about snowdin or the areas around it. you know, places to go, people you should know about ahead of time. i bet some people have been, uh, pretty intense—if you want, i can talk to some folks, see about maybe…not getting attacked?” he tries.

Sans has already done most of the talking, actually. There are rumors going around about the recently-orphaned monster child of some type that’s distantly related to skeletons who ran away into the woods. That’s Papyrus’s cover for how he’s pretty much vanished from Snowdin, too—search and rescue so that the Queen doesn’t come down on all of their heads for losing a child. Nobody’s gonna be getting in his way until they’re sure it won’t end with them executed for obstructing child care.

The kid could probably waltz right into Snowdin now and be perfectly safe, as long as they didn’t do anything too human and weird, but they plan’s always been for Papyrus to be the one to guide them through. Better chance of survival if there’s someone around who’s taking responsibility and making sure they fit in alright. For a time traveler, better chance of survival means less chance of them deciding to get violent to defend themself.

Movement from the bush catches Papyrus’s attention, and he turns just fractionally to watch a paper airplane sail over to him.

It’s probably not a paper airplane with particularly evil intent, but a projectile is a projectile. He shuffles his feet so that it won’t strike him as it nosedives into the path.

Part of him winces to see his nice, crisp sketchbook paper being folded up and left in the snow, but sacrifices must be made. Going by the make of the airplane, it’s probably a good thing he skipped on origami, at least—he’s surprised it flew even a couple of feet to reach him.

It’s written on. He unfolds it; the sloppy make isn’t exactly hard to undo.

_I want to go to Snowdin with you. Will you get in trouble if people see you hanging out with a human?_

Papyrus looks up at the patch of shadow that the plane came from.

“well. i have an idea for that. let’s say we go to snowdin, you and me, and i tell folks you’re a pal of mine and we don’t mention the H-word?” He refolds the paper airplane into something that can actually fly as he speaks, and tosses it back. There’s a distinct _thwack_ as it hits something.

Just in case they need a little more coaxing, Papyrus says, “if you don’t wanna go all the way to town, we could just hang out here today and i’ll tell you about my favorite places. i can tell people about you and make sure they play nice before i introduce you, and all. really, i’d just, uh…i’d really like to meet my new pal face-to-face.”

He turns his head to the side slightly and makes a sort of _aw, shucks_ gesture. Hopes humans even understand monster gestures. “i mean, i think it’d be nice. howzaboutit, kid?”

He’s barely finished speaking before the airplane comes back. The paper is a little crinkled, like they tried to unfold it and couldn’t figure it out, and the writing is on the wing this time.

 _I want to make sure ppl wnt come +_ , says one wing, and _surprise us. Pls wait 2 minutes I will check nearby_ says the other, in increasingly small text.

Huh. Looks like the kid’s been more diligent about their surroundings than he gave them credit for. Well, a sense of caution is good for them…but shouldn’t he be the one patrolling? They don’t seem to have any combat abilities except for time travel, and DETERMINATION is supposed to be finite.

Then again, the kid still doesn’t know a thing about him except what he’s told them. Papyrus can respect a healthy sense of caution about letting other people guard your back.

Also, he can’t really stop them. Not without going into the woods himself, and possibly causing a fuss that’ll draw attention. Probably best to give them their two minutes and listen carefully, right? How far can they get in two minutes?

Thinking quickly, Papyrus says, “that’s a great idea, kid,” because a little praise is rarely a bad thing.

“i’ll stay right here, ok? if there’s anything you need, just, uh…yell? i’ll be there in half a second.” And then end any FIGHT going on and shortcut out as quick as possible, before anyone comes to investigate. “don’t take too long or i’ll have to come looking. two minutes, right? a hundred twenty seconds. be careful.”

A second paper airplane comes out of the woods, this one folded at a sharper angle to look more like his but otherwise pretty much identical to the first.

_Maybe 5 minutes_   
_Don’t get scared until 10 I might run into someone and making friends takes time sometimes_   
_I’ll be safe! :)_

Damn it, kid. Even as he’s reading, Papyrus hears a shuffling sound and rapidly retreating footsteps.

Have they really been pacifying every monster they come across? That’s…probably not possible.

The teens, yeah, maybe; they’re barely more than kids and Snowdrake and Chilldrake haven’t even been graduated to teens for a year yet, so they’re still under their father’s protection for another two months or so. They’re probably not really desperate enough to kill some strange kid, even if they wouldn’t hesitate to attack Papyrus if they caught him alone.

The guards aren’t on the paths, but the dogs wouldn’t lift a finger against a kid unless they were reasonably sure it was a human kid. The kid could have met them and the teens and come to the conclusion that nobody’s gonna try too hard to hurt them.

But Glyde? The Gyftrot, if it’s not hibernating for some reason? The stray Loox that’s rumored to haunt the woods? No chance. Glyde kills anything that moves. The Gyftrot would gore them and wear them on its horns for decoration. Any other roving monsters only live in the woods because they’re too goddamned crazy to survive in society, or they were born in them to absolutely insane parents who may or may not have mentioned, oh, you can’t kill kids or that skeleton in the fancy uniform will murder you to death.

The woods are…awfully quiet.

Papyrus really shouldn’t have let them go alone. How long has it been? At least three minutes. That’s more than two. But less than five. Or maybe it’s been five by now? He hasn’t been counting…

Nervously, Papyrus manifests a simple bone attack. Nothing too fancy, just something loud and bright and mostly vertical, to draw attention. He should’ve given them a flare, at least, to let him know if they got into trouble. Or, gone with them? The woods wouldn’t exactly be less dangerous for him than the kid, though, and he can’t shortcut out if his opponent starts a FIGHT before he thinks to react…he should have just convinced them to come out of the woods. He could say he’s already checked around—no, he couldn’t, they were here before he arrived this morning. Ugh, what was he thinking?

…Papyrus _really_ shouldn’t have let them go alone. How long has it been? At least three minutes. No—six? That’s more than two. Also more than five. Has it been ten by now? He hasn’t been counting…no, it can’t have been more than three minutes. The kid only just left.

Nervously, Papyrus manifests a simple bone attack. Weird—déjà vu. He should have done this earlier, given them a flare or something before they ran off. He must have thought of it; he could almost swear he made one already. Why didn’t he give them one? Must have forgotten about it. The one he makes now is nothing too fancy, just something loud and bright and mostly vertical, to draw attention. He’ll give it to ‘em next time. Should he have gone with them…?

Papyrus is beginning to regret letting the kid go alone. Or at all. He’s only been waiting, like, some amount of minutes (three?), but it feels like forever. He hates waiting around for stuff. It gets boring and repetitive real fast.

Nervously, he begins to construct a bone attack, but lets it go. He’s already got a few on him, right? He could have sworn he’s made some already. He should have made a flare earlier and given it to the human somehow. He made one, right…? And forgot to put it in with the rest of the stuff in the bag? No, he must have thought about it and forgot to do it; he doesn’t have one in his inventory now.

Weird. Papyrus isn’t obsessively attentive to detail like Sans is, but now that he’s thinking of it, he can’t quite remember coming up with the idea of giving the kid a flare. Maybe he’s just projecting it back, and he actually came up with it for the first time just now? What a weird mistake to make…

And then, Papyrus isn’t worried about that at all, because he hears it. Branches are breaking under something much, much bigger than a human.

The clatter is bearing down on him with alarming speed, coming to the edge of the woods and sounding terrifyingly lethal all the way, but it’s not approaching so quickly that Papyrus doesn’t have time to think. He has time for several thoughts. He uses that time to think, _huh_ , and _that’s not good_ , and also, _fuck_.

Then he’s pretty much out of time, which is good, because he’s out of thoughts except for _RUN, IDIOT_ , in what sounds like his brother’s voice. Just as something little barrels out of the undergrowth—a smallish biped in a black and red striped sweater. The human.

Welp. Life-or-death situations are good bonding experiences, right?

Papyrus has just enough time to grab some G from his inventory before he’s swept into the FIGHT by sheer proximity. The human looks around as they emerge from the treeline, seeming startled to be out of the woods, and he uses their shared turn to hurl cash at the shadows behind them.

There’s only one monster he knows of who makes thundering hoof steps and chases people out of the backwoods.

Sure enough, Papyrus catches a glimpse of the Gyftrot even as he reaches a hand out to the kid, who’s hesitating at the side of the road. “c’mere come here go go go go go,” he mutters—they seem to listen, startling to attention and running straight for him.

They make as if to run past him and yoink him along by the arm, but he catches them as they go, bundling them up and carrying them as he uses his longer stride for whatever advantage he can give the two of them. The Gyftrot’s probably a little slowed by the G distracting it, but not enough to guarantee escape.

 _fuck. FUCK_ , thinks Papyrus, running through options in his head—no chance of winning if he turns to FIGHT; the Gyftrot is so drunk on LOVE that he’d be lucky to make a dent before it gores him. Hurling cash would mean putting the kid down. No shortcuts in a FIGHT. It’s faster than he is; running will only work for so long.

It’s his and the kid’s turn again. Papyrus keeps fleeing, even as he hears the hooves coming closer. The kid grabs something out of their inventory, but he doesn’t take the time to guess at what it is.

Should he try to go through the forest…? Chances are, he’ll run into something else nasty, and then he’ll be doubly screwed. Sans has to be around somewhere—will he get here in time? Is it worth sending out a flare? No, the Gyftrot is closing in too quickly. He needs to put all his energy towards running. It’s _too damned fast_.

The kid squirms in his arms and Papyrus feels warm, moist breath come in a plume over the back of his skull. He clutches desperately to them and pushes himself to run faster, somehow, just survive another moment. If the kid can really time travel, any second now would be great. He can feel the edge of hysteria at the thought.

He doesn’t want to die here. He wants to go home to Sans tonight. He doesn’t want to die.

It’s his turn again, and the kid uses their item before he can choose anything. They lunge up to reach over his shoulder—he feels a tug as they hold on to something, something moving along with him, already too close. _fuck_. He hopes it won’t hurt, getting trampled. He hopes he dies before he has to hear his ribcage getting crushed.

Papyrus’s face is halfway covered by the kid’s sweater as they use him as a boost for whatever they’re doing, running blindly—and then there’s a release of pressure, the world coming into sharp color as the FIGHT ends.

Papyrus doesn’t waste a moment to question it. He shortcuts as far as he can in the direction he came from, all the way to the Ruins door.

Hopefully it won’t think to turn around. Hopefully there was just—a weird fluke, or a time travel thing, and somehow the FIGHT stuttered for long enough to let him get out. Hopefully he’s not having sharp hallucinations after his horrible death.

Papyrus slows to a halt halfway to Sans’s station and tries to convince himself he’s still alive.

The human wriggles, and he nearly drops them—right. It’s not just a bundle of sweater he’s carrying awkwardly. That’s a person. Right.

Slowly, he lets them squirm until he’s got them in a sort of…pre-suplex hold. Or a hug where they aren’t touching the ground.

He’s…still alive, right? And so is the human. Right. Yeah. He’s…making friends. With the human.

“ _fuck_ ,” he says. And then, “wait. shit. don’t tell anyone i said that. um.”

He tries to let the kid down, because kidnapping is not the first impression he wants to make, but they don’t let go of him—they actually seem to hold on tighter.

“i. uh. i.” He sounds like an idiot. “you—i. my name is papyrus. good to, uh, meet you.”

The human hums. They sound content and not like they were just in mortal terror. More mortal terror than usual. Unexpected mortal terror.

Most things that try to kill Papyrus, he can usually see coming. He hasn’t been taken by surprise in…a while.

Sans is gonna kick his ass for not paying attention to his surroundings and Papyrus will totally deserve it.

“i’m.” Papyrus sighs. “look, uh. we’re. we’re gonna take a minute. ok? i just—i need a minute.”

After a sharp glance around—he is _not_ making the same mistake twice—Papyrus shortcuts the close distance to the Ruins door and collapses back against it. The human doesn’t seem like they’re gonna let go anytime soon, so he takes them with him as he slides down to a sitting position. They make another contended little hum and snuggle up like this is totally normal for them.

“what a way to start the morning,” Papyrus mutters. “ok. alright. all cool now. totally cool and fine.”

The human pats his shoulder. Which is also totally cool and fine. He was hoping to maybe sit within three feet of the human while carefully not acknowledging their existence today, but now they’re right here and he’s talked to them and they’ve already had a near-death experience together, which is probably not supposed to happen until they’ve had at least one in-person hangout but okay whatever, fuck the rules, he can work with this. He can work with this.

Yeah. Great. Now to make a good first impression.

Papyrus is really hoping humans imprint on people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This'll come up next chapter, but what Frisk did was decorate the Gyftrot. Swap universe=Gyftrot wants to be decorated and goes out of its way to interact with people; Fell universe=those interactions are mostly murder (unless appeased by decoration or money). In Underfell, Gyftmas is one day a year where everyone bands together to hunt down and try to kill Gyftrot; in Swapfell, Gyftrot goes on a rampage in town, leaving the forest for one day a year.
> 
> Gyftrot in this 'verse has some special FIGHT mechanics that'll be explained more next chapter; it's more of a constant chase than a traditional battle, where Gyftrot will go at a steady pace until it catches up or you escape. If you take your turn to flee you go quicker, throwing cash will slow it down, etc. Nobody has ever tried decorating it before because that would be insane. Luckily, Frisk knows a thing or two about swap!Gyftrot!
> 
> Anyway. Please let me know how you liked it!


	16. Let's Play a Game

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Briefing:**  
>  Uh. Children have more bones than adults. How's that for a fun fact?

Papyrus spends a moment sitting against the Ruins door with the human. Not a long moment. Just takes a couple of deep breaths. Nice and even. In through his ribs and out through his nose.

Cool. Cool and fine. Papyrus is cool as a goddamned snowball, he is. That’s cooler than cool. He’s ice cold. Of sound mind and sane temperament. Totally un-rattled and ready to put his best foot forward in the plan to save Sans and the little human from Sans’s promise, and play the long game in saving monsterkind. Yeah. He’s got this.

…saying the first word has never been so terrifying.

He can’t stay here and just kinda hold the human in place forever. Eventually they’ll get bored and run off, and then they’ll think he’s boring, and that’ll be just as bad as saying something awkward and wrecking all his progress. Maybe worse, because they might not want to see him again after that. He does need to say something in order to make any headway in the friendship field. Something clever. Or helpful. Or both.

There’s gotta be _something_ he can say.

 _sorry you just almost died._ No, that sounds stupid. And Sans got closer to killing them, technically, in terms of HP. Though the Gyftrot would trample them instantly and Sans doesn’t really want to kill them, because he thinks they’re pretty cool, so maybe this was a closer call. Papyrus isn’t sure how to count it. Either way, starting with an apology is no good. He’s trying to make a positive impression.

_…how’s it going?_

He already knows how it’s going. He’s been hanging out with them for hours almost every day. That’s more time than he spends with anyone but Sans.

Uh. Food? He can’t just offer them food out of nowhere, that’s weird. If he goes straight from being freaked out about almost dying to offering to do puzzles with them, they’re gonna think he’s a freak. Offering them a flare should probably wait until they’re a little calmer—they aren’t crying or anything, but they’re clinging pretty tight and absorbing his presence like no one has held them for a month. Which. How long have they been Underground, again?

Asking that would be super weird and totally out of nowhere. Alright. Okay. There’s something he can say here that’s smooth and cool. What do Sans’s gazillion plans say? Is he too late to use them, and now he has to say something that excuses the huge, awkward pause in conversation?

Papyrus carefully shifts the human, who is actually pretty hard to shift around when they clutch his jacket like that. They look up at him, attention drawn. Okay, now he really needs to say something. He’s started the interaction. Gotta follow through somehow.

Papyrus decides to just start talking before he gets any more paralyzed by social ineptitude. Anything is better than nothing, right?

“hey, lemme see you a sec,” comes out first, because he’s kinda gotta look them over in case he missed massive damage somewhere down the line, and it’s followed by “just checkin’ you’re not hurt. you need food or anything?”

The kid loosens their grip enough that he can get them to sit up some. And Papyrus gets his first good, long look at the creature that could turn all of the Underground on its head.

They’re smallish. Maybe a touch taller than Sans, without the bulk of his armor to fill them out. Their black-and-red sweater is in tatters up close—clumsily-repaired slices cover the front like someone tried to stab them right through their SOUL, and one of the sleeves is singed and mostly missing. Even the hems are worn down, but the damage doesn’t look fresh.

Their hair’s a similar mess—if it were one of Sans’s yarn balls, it would go in the ‘this will take hours to detangle, and I might have to unravel it entirely’ pile. There are leaves and pine needles caught in hair and sweater alike.

They’re holding a stick that looks kinda charred on one side, but smoothly so. Watching Papyrus with an expression that’s hard to decipher.

Outside of a run for both of their lives, the kid looks pretty okay—not crying or badly hurt or anything. Not that Papyrus would know, necessarily, from the outside. On a quick check, it looks like their HP is dinged, but not even down to half. Papyrus would feel better if he could get some numbers on that, but their bar looks alright.

For physical wounds, have a cut on their cheek that he can see. It doesn’t leak dust, but a red liquid is slowly welling up. That must be DETERMINATION. Other than that, they’ve got scuffs and dirt marks, but don’t seem to have any fresh or lasting damage on their skin.

All in all, they sure do look like a kid who’s been living in a forest for a few weeks. Switch the plant debris out for dust and city grime, and they’d be a fleshy match for Sans at that age. They’re gonna need a thorough scrub-down and probably a hot meal or three.

Well, today’s their lucky day—Papyrus can help with all of the above, starting with the food. He saved their life, so they probably trust him now, right? Human or not, they’re a kid. Kids trust people for worse reasons.

* * *

Frisk is watching Papyrus right back as he takes them in. His eyes are hard to track without lights in them, but they follow the tilt of his head as he gives them a slow once-over, pausing on their face. He seems to be thinking hard about something.

Frisk hopes they’re making a good first impression. They kinda think maybe they aren’t, because they might have a little bit accidentally lead the Gyftrot to him, and then he had to run away and bring them with him, and that’s pretty stressful. Real Papyrus eats stress for breakfast, but Frisk is thinking maybe Skinny Papyrus doesn’t need any more of it.

Even though they know better, he still looks like the kind of skeleton they should be gentle with. He and his brother both just look a little bit brittle.

Frisk shifts their hands on the stick from Dancing World uncertainly. It doesn’t look right without the pretty blue ribbon on it, but they needed something to decorate the Gyftrot with. They wish they had the ribbon back. They wish they hadn’t made a SAVE out of pure relief when Skinny Papyrus hugged them.

They don’t really wish that. They wouldn’t undo that for anything. Who knows if it would happen again?

They still want to not be missing the ribbon…

Later. They’ll think about that later, and for right now they’ll be really, really glad, which is what the rest of them wants to be, because their brother is _right here_ and he’s not even trying to kill them, he’s just sitting with them and sorta holding them up by their ribcage so he can assess them for damage. He has a look on his face like he’s thinking a lot of thoughts, very hard.

They’ve missed that look. They almost wish he’d give them a bone attack and scold them for being careless. They were being careless, leading the Gyftrot to him. They wouldn’t mind if he decided he wanted to scold and fret a little. They’d just be happy to hear his voice some more, but talking _to Frisk_ this time, which is all the different.

Skinny Papyrus, apparently deciding that they’re not going to die, sets them down so they’re sorta kneeling on his shins. He puts his hand on their shoulder awkwardly, and then shifts it around, and then decides that’s no good and lets go.

Frisk follows this progression with fascination—what is he doing? What is he secretly doing? Is he trying to check them for weapons but just on their shoulder, or is he just bad at patting people’s shoulders?

“uh. don’t get into a FIGHT with gyftrot next time,” Skinny Papyrus says. “i mean. next time you’re in the woods. and you’re thinking, ‘should i wake up a crazy violent monster from hibernation?’ the answer should be ‘no.’”

Frisk nods. They didn’t _mean_ to wake up Gyftrot, it’s just, it happened, and then they were trying to make friends with it and they kept dying, and then they accidentally ran into the road and there was Skinny Papyrus…

Skinny Papyrus shrugs. “i mean, i’m not mad. i’m sure you didn’t mean to…almost die, and all. and it’s awake now, i guess, so there’s no real point…spilled milk, right? it’s ok. you, uh…”

He looks past them. Frisk isn’t really very comfortable kneeling on his shins, so they crawl over to flop against the door next to him. He kinda flinches his arm out of their way, and leaves it hovering awkwardly.

Frisk presses in against his ribcage. His jacket does not make it less hard and bony. They’ve missed him.

“oh,” says Papyrus. “you’re there now.”

Frisk nods again. They are here now.

“that’s…good. yeah. be…go ahead and…get comfortable. which you. already have. right there. yep. that’s good.” He puts his arm around their shoulders too firmly, and then seems surprised when he pushes them into a slouch. He resettles so it’s barely touching them. “you’re a friendly little thing. where was this when i was kicking around the path forever?”

Frisk shrugs. They were in the woods, but they think Skinny Papyrus might already know that.

“heh, fair enough.”

The conversation stops for a minute as Frisk soaks up the feeling of leaning into magic bones and Skinny Papyrus does repressed fidgeting.

A couple of times, he makes like he’s gonna say something, but then he doesn’t. Frisk thinks he might not know how to make friends. They’re not sure how to tell him they’re already friends.

After another moment to absorb being-with-Papyrus feelings, Frisk puts the stick back in their inventory and take out the bag he left them. Paper will help. All Papyri like puzzles, and Skinny Papyrus left them a connect-the-dots. It’s kind of a little kid puzzle, but a lot of the time Sans will use kid puzzles to capture them, so maybe he’s taking inspiration from his brother.

Frisk thinks it would be fun to do connect the dots together, but they should say sorry first, probably, because he seemed kind of freaked out about the whole Gyftrot thing.

 _Sorry I got you in a FIGHT_ , they write on one of the fresh clean papers he gave them. Since he’s right next to them, they don’t need to try to throw it at him.

“s’alright,” he dismisses. “you’re a kid. you probably don’t know about the laws around here yet, but that’s, the whole running to hide behind an adult thing, that’s pretty much what you’re supposed to do. if someone is trying to kill you. which they shouldn’t. i mean, maybe you shoulda thrown me at it and left me to die, but, heh, i’m gonna speak personally and say i’m glad you didn’t.”

Frisk smiles. They’re glad they didn’t, either—not that they would. Papyrus has never been dead before, so he’d probably figure something out, but Frisk isn’t gonna risk it. They’d rather die a few more times and figure it out themself, if it came to that.

Frisk leans harder into Skinny Papyrus and revels in how he doesn’t immediately murder them. They hope he teaches this great technique to Sans.

“i should tell you more about stuff,” Skinny Papyrus blurts all at once. “information. i said i’d do that. i’m a skeleton of my word. sorta. mostly. yeah.”

Frisk believes him.

“…if you run into gyftrot again you can throw money at it,” Skinny Papyrus says. “it doesn’t see too well, so the shiny bits are distracting and sometimes it thinks there’s something in the way. if you throw enough it usually stops eventually. or it slows down and you can get away quicker. uh—that’s the thing you want in its FIGHT. you can’t really kill the Gyftrot, so you mostly wanna run. that’s why it doesn’t really have turns. it’s kind of a different kind of FIGHT. like a race. so, if you see it again, think about racing and throw money.”

Skinny Papyrus seems to think a moment.

“did that…help? at all?” He sounds a little uncertain about that.

Frisk pats his hand over their shoulder.

 _Throw money and run away next time. Don’t wait for the Gft’s turn it doesn’t have one._ They think that’s a pretty good summary.

“yeah. ok yeah that works. and, uh, make sure to take your turn every time you can. it’ll just gain on you until you do and then you’ll—uh, you won’t like what happens, if it catches up with you.” They sure didn’t the times they tried it.

Skinny Papyrus scans the treeline and kinda squirms a bit.

“so, kiddo…what else do you wanna know? i can tell you about town or something,” he offers. He doesn’t seem very excited about it, or very sure that that’s what they want. Frisk thinks he might just be offering to be polite.

Skinny Papyrus has been a lot more polite than Black Sans—what with the not killing them, and the saving their life, and offering to talk to them, and all—but Frisk can think of something better to do.

 _Puzzle_ , they write on the paper, and underline it, for emphasis. They show him with one hand and shuffle the papers around to show him the connect the dots puzzle he gave them. Some of them look a lot more complicated than normal connect the dots puzzles, with esoterica and mysterious symbols scatters throughout, but others look like straightforward outlines of bones.

“you need me to explain the puzzle?” Papyrus guesses. He shifts in place, realizes he’s jostling Frisk, and stops. “it’s, uh, it’s just counting. …do you know how to count?”

Frisk shakes their head and Papyrus looks off-balance, and then they realize he might actually think they don’t know how to count now and they nod, and then they decide to just write from now on because gestures are not working as well as they did in the World Best Left Forgotten.

Frisk writes, _No I know how. I want to do it together bcause were friends + friends do puzzles. I can make 1 for you too!_

They flap their remaining blank papers at him to show how much prime puzzle real estate they have now, and they think Papyrus looks really happy. He should look like that more often.

“well, with an argument like that,” he says. “sure. yeah, kid, let’s do some puzzles.”

* * *

Frisk dreams that night.

They have a bad dream that ends in them cold and alone and falling with an aching hand, and they sorta-kinda wake up and go back to sleep and have a dream about Blue Sans looking startled as he fades into a vague smear too far away to reach, and—

…and they wake up, again, and they don’t want to go back to sleep.

They take their stick out of their inventory automatically, to run their fingers down the ribbon and feel the smooth char, forgetting—and then it’s like the world falls out from under them, again, because the ribbon is gone, the special ribbon that was on the stick in Dancing World and never in any of the others, it’s gone like it never existed, like they never got it from anywhere, like this stick is something they picked up while Black Sans was trying to kill them, like Shy Sans was a wonderful dream and maybe the others were, too, and—

And long story short, Frisk uses up all of their paper trying to draw the ribbon. Their drawings aren’t very good, even they can see that. But they can’t use words to explain exactly where the burn marks are, or how shiny it is. Was. Is?

Either way, it never comes out right. They try so hard to write and draw, and it never looks like their ribbon, the pretty blue ribbon that Shy Sans almost burn to smithereens but didn’t quite because some part of the stick always survives, the ribbon that’s Frisk’s, that they get to keep and hold on to forever. Except they didn’t hold on to it forever. They wanted Papyrus to not die so they gave it up and now they don’t have it.

Frisk doesn’t want to RESET, but they don’t want their ribbon to be gone, but they’re finally friends with Skinny Papyrus and they want that even more than they want the ribbon. But that feels bad. It feels like a betrayal, letting the stick lose its special ribbon because they’re scared to go back, and they’re tired and don’t want to go through everything all over again. The stick doesn’t look right all alone. It doesn’t look like _Frisk’s_ stick anymore. It’s just a stick.

Frisk is gonna fix this. They’re gonna…they’re gonna do some thinking tomorrow, and they’re gonna find a way to have their ribbon from Dancing World even if they can’t go back. They wish they’d asked Shy Sans if they could keep their lesson plan. But. They didn’t, so they’re gonna get back what they do have.

They need to get better at the Gyftrot’s special FIGHT. They need to get close enough to undecorate it. They need their ribbon back. They need it _back_.

The stick isn’t very comforting tonight, but Frisk goes back to sleep holding it anyway. They’ll need their rest tomorrow.

-

The next day, Frisk goes to Snowdin on a mission. They’re gonna find Black Sans.

They write down their mission on one of Skinny Papyrus’s papers, so it’s really official. They write down _Wonderfell Ribbon Operation_ because they think that Wonderfell is a good name for this world, because it’s like Fell-From Wonderland, and they decide right then and there that they’re gonna call the Fell-From Underground “Underfell,” because then it rhymes and they can mash up Underfell and Wonderland to get Wonderfell. And since Wonderfell sounds like “wonderful,” that means Wonderfell is gonna be great and Wonderfell Ribbon Operation is going to turn out well.

Chara thinks they’re stalling. So Frisk sets out for Snowdin, papers in hand.

At first, they don’t see Black Sans or Skinny Papyrus—Dogamy and Dogaressa are patrolling the main street, and Grillby’s is actually Muffet’s in Wonderfell, but no skeletons are running around or yelling. That’s okay. Frisk will have to try to be patient.

They make friends with the bunny innkeeper while they’re in town, because they’re thinking if they can’t find Black Sans they might stay the night tomorrow anyway, and she thinks they’re very cute and mentions that there’s a kid that the guard commander is looking for. That’s probably Frisk, but they promise to keep an eye out, just in case.

Next door, the innkeeper bunny’s sister tells them a little bit more about their brothers: Sans is the commander of Snowdin’s Royal Guards, and Papyrus doesn’t have a real job but the shopkeep says that people Sans doesn’t like tend do get visits from Papyrus and stop doing illegal things very quickly after that, and she tells Frisk that as long as they keep their head down and follow the rules, there’s nowhere they’ll be safer than in Snowdin. Especially because they’re a kid.

Then she laughs and says that Frisk probably doesn’t have to worry about knowing any of this stuff, because they’re so little, right? And don’t they have someone to go home to? And if Frisk’s guardian is making them do the errands because they’re afraid to leave the house, then Frisk can talk to someone, because making your child do stuff you’re afraid to is illegal; and if Frisk doesn’t want their guardian to be executed, then they can talk to her and she’ll make sure none of the guards get wind of it.

Once people start talking about guardians and involving the authorities, it’s time for Frisk to leave, they decide. Especially because their guardians are several worlds away and one of them maybe tried to kill Frisk. Or, he said he was gonna kill them, probably, at least. And also saying that Sans and Papyrus are their guardians will probably confuse a lot of people, especially Black Sans and Skinny Papyrus, who are not really their guardians.

Frisk pays for their (heavily discounted) stuff and leaves.

They get lucky on the way home: as they’re leaving the shop, right by the sign that’s supposed to say _Welcome to ~~Snowdin~~ HELL_ but actually just says _Snowdin_ in this Underground, they spot Black Sans next to it. He’s scanning over the treeline with narrow eyes. He looks very stiff and upright, and they don’t think they could sneak up on him very easily.

Luckily, Frisk isn’t trying to sneak up on him. See, Frisk has figured out a great way to spend some quality time with Sans even if he’s still kind of murdery. He’s not, like, _super-duper_ murdery, and he apologized for killing them, so they have a great solution in mind for everything from missing Sans to their missing ribbon!

With their eyes on the prize, Frisk trots right up to Black Sans, making crunching noises on the snow. He angles his body so that they’ll know that he knows that they’re there and he’s just so powerful that he doesn’t deign to look directly at whoever’s approaching him, because Black Sans is special and cool like that.

Frisk actually gets a little closer than they were expecting—they’re maybe four feet from him when he turns his head to assess them, and if Frisk didn’t know him they’d have missed how he nearly jumps out of his bones.

Frisk clutches the paper they prepared specifically for if they ran into Black Sans (not the one with _Wonderfell Ribbon Operation_ on it, but one they made for the Operation). They stall out a little at that point, though.

Should they give it to him now? He’s not attacking…

Actually, Black Sans is looking closely at the monsters who slink down the main drag of Snowdin, in full view of him and Frisk, in between looking back at Frisk and then away again.

That’s kind of a problem with their plan…they’d hoped to meet him more in the woods, but he might not want to start a FIGHT in town. He does like to protect monsters from danger. And they’re not really sure about the law about killing kids? Obviously it won’t stop him from killing them, but maybe he doesn’t want witnesses, because it seems like no one else knows that they’re human?

Improvising, Frisk decides to see where this neutral ground goes. They wave at Black Sans and stay a healthy conversational distance away—a healthy distance for Wonderfell, or for Underfell. It’s a bit of a far distance for the other peaceful worlds they’ve been to. They stand their ground and wait for him to say something.

Black Sans apparently decides on not killing them in plain view of town, and inclines his head, looking irked.

“…child,” he says.

Frisk waves with more enthusiasm. They beam at him.

“It is a lovely day for a walk. How nice for you to simply…stroll through. My town.” Sans’s fingers are twitching. Frisk doesn’t think it’s because he wants to wave back.

They will not be deterred, though. They bounce on the balls of their feet, getting loosened up and ready to run.

“And you seem to have completed your errands here. I am thrilled to see that you’ve had your run of the place. I assume you’re returning to your…residence?” he asks, like the word ‘residence’ is a shed snakeskin he’s carrying and he doesn’t want to touch it with more than his fingertips.

Frisk nods, points to themself, points to the woods, points to Black Sans, themself, and the woods. Just to be clear, they point between themself and Sans a few more times. And then the woods. They mime walking with their fingers.

Black Sans watches their gesturing with a distinct air of witnessing tomfoolery.

“It would of course be remiss of me, an esteemed commander in the Royal Guard, not to accompany a lone child home on such a dangerous path. After all. It is my duty to ensure your…safe delivery.” The emphasis on those words is not accidental. Black Sans is appropriately menacing.

Frisk is happy to see him being scary and taking care of himself. Some of the quiet, shadowy monsters have drawn back in murmurs and retreated to corners and crannies to hide until the storm has passed. Black Sans is really good!

Frisk gives him a thumbs up and points to the woods again. They turn and dance back a couple of steps, facing him all the way as they move towards the path out of Snowdin like a tour guide.

The path is visible from town for a little while, so he won’t be able to attack them for a bit if he doesn’t want to be seen breaking the law. Enough for a good head start—or, enough to have a nice stroll with him. It depends on if he’s in a strolling mood.

Black Sans gives them a dark look that’s suspicious of their motives, actions, and existence; but he does walk briskly forwards to keep up with them. Frisk doesn’t let him get close enough to grab their arm, but he doesn’t try very hard. At least, he doesn’t teleport.

“Little surprise that you’d seek the guidance of the strongest monster in Snowdin for protection in the woods, as you’re so clearly helpless yourself,” Black Sans says archly, testingly. He looks like he’s waiting for them to pull out a bone attack and try to kill him.

Oh, no…there was a better way to go about this, wasn’t there? Probably with more cowering. Black Sans totally thinks they’re gonna try to kill him now. Frisk really hopes he understands that they’re not gonna hurt him, but he probably thinks they’re being really suspicious, doesn’t he?

Frisk frantically holds out their hands, paper and all, in a gesture of peace and a clear show that they don’t have any weapons equipped. Which, okay, they sort of do, but it’s in their SOUL and they can’t really get it out, or at least they haven’t tried because they think that would hurt and they’d maybe die. Sans doesn’t need to know about that.

Sans apparently does need to know about their paper, or so he decides. His eyes focus in on it and his pace hurries a little to match their skipping back. Frisk really hopes Black Sans will tell them if something comes up behind them.

“Is that…a letter?” Black Sans asks. “Hu—child, did you write that for me?”

His expression is a little pinched.

Frisk nods, but holds out a finger in a _wait one second_ gesture, and points to the woods again, and the letter, and him. Woods, letter, Sans. Woods. More insistently, _woods_.

Black Sans hums thoughtfully. He seems to have gears ticking in his mind.

“Perhaps…you have a proposal to present to me? You have realized the futility of hiding in the lawless wastes forever, and approached in hopes of once again throwing yourself at my mercy?” Black Sans asks.

Frisk tilts their hand in a kinda-sorta way. Actually…no, it’s not even a kinda-sorta thing, is it? That’s pretty much not what they’re doing. They’re literally here to pick a FIGHT. But they don’t want to actually attack anyone, or be attacked, so…maybe he’s a little bit right?

“What, then? If you wanted to leave an anonymous letter of admiration and terror, approaching me directly is a bold but ineffective strategy,” Black Sans says. Frisk does the kinda-sorta gesture again, but lets it droop at the edges, veering more towards a _no_ this time. They do note that he didn’t tell them not to write him a letter. Maybe they can do that next time, and give it to Skinny Papyrus.

They’re getting to be a decent distance from Snowdin proper. They can tell because the snowflakes prick their skin a little more, and it’s colder out here, and the pine smell that almost disappears in Snowdin proper is strong now.

None of the dogi seem to be outside the town today, which might be why Black Sans is willing to say, “Well, what is it? Certainly you didn’t approach me for the pleasure of my company.”

That’s it! Well, no, not entirely…Frisk pinches their fingers together and nods for _a little bit yes?_

They glance over Black Sans’s shoulder and decide they’re far enough from town. They don’t really see anyone, anyway. Everything is just about in place!

The thing is, Frisk has a plan. They have a great plan, that will help them solve a lot of their problems. Some of them before they become problems, even!

One problem: Glyde is okay-ish with Frisk living with him, because they’re running away from a ‘fan,’ and Glyde is also running away from his fans, so he understands them.

But. Glyde is kind of crazy. So he needs a lot of reassurance that they’re not trying to be his fan and stalk him or kidnap him or anything, and trying to reassure someone that you’re not interested in them at all while also trying to make them feel better is kind of hard and Frisk hasn’t really figured out how to do it.

So if Black Sans would just chase them into Glyde’s territory again, that would really help them, right? They’re sure Glyde will get over his attack of paranoia if he sees that they’re only staying with him because they’re hiding from Black Sans. Well, maybe he won’t, but it’ll probably help. If he’s still having the paranoid crazies tomorrow, they’ll sleep in Snowdin a couple days to give him space.

Another problem: they want their ribbon back. And Gyftrot would probably definitely kill them for taking it unless they got to be really good at the special kind of FIGHT the Gyftrot has. So if they want to track down the Gyftrot again, undecorate it to get their ribbon, and survive the experience, they need to practice!

After all, if they can just get enough practice with the kind of FIGHT Gyftrot does, Frisk is sure they can figure out how to get close enough to grab their ribbon and then also run away.

So: they need someone to practice with, because practicing with the Gyftrot would be asking for trouble. And Skinny Papyrus couldn’t teleport in the Gyftrot’s FIGHT, so probably Black Sans can’t either, right? So if they start a chase-FIGHT with Black Sans, they can practice like they would practice dodging with Real Papyrus, and it’ll be okay, and probably he won’t cheat to catch up and kill them.

And. Also. Separately from that, in a solution to a totally different problem: Frisk got a Papyrus hug yesterday. It was really special and warm. Before yesterday they were ready to not have one for a long time, but they went to him and he just picked them up and gave them a hug.

Well, there were other things going on, like the Gyftrot chasing them, but mostly what matters is that Skinny Papyrus let them sit with him and solve connect the dots puzzles and hang out together for as long as they wanted, and that’s really good.

It all started because they left him a note saying they want to be friends, so…maybe if they want to spend time with Sans, too, they just need to approach him directly? And ask him to do the stuff he likes to do, like chase them around the woods with bone attacks, but in a fun friend way? And maybe that’ll work out like asking to be Papyrus’s friend did, and Black Sans will be their brother again in no time!

Chara feels like that’s not how that’s gonna work out, but they only say so with vague feelings of unease and dread, so basically Frisk is free to do what they want. It’ll work out and they’ll show Chara. They’re all gonna be a family again, and Frisk will do better this time so Sans doesn’t go crazy and try to kill them. Even if he’s the most similar to Red Sans, that doesn’t mean they’re the same, so Black Sans might be safe and nice, and they want to be his sibling and give him a chance.

So. For all of these good and well thought out reasons. Frisk double-checks that no one is watching (if they are, it’s just people from the forest who don’t care about child-killing laws or Sans’s reputation), and hops from one foot to the other to get last-minute-warmed-up, and then thrusts the paper out to Black Sans.

 _TAG!_ it says, in their neatest handwriting, because Black Sans seems like someone who would care about that. _You’re it!_

Black Sans takes the paper, and while he looks down to scan it, Frisk triggers the FIGHT. They haven’t triggered a special Gyftrot chase FIGHT before, but they try hard and they think it feels right. Frisk doesn’t waste time making sure before they dart down the path.

They must not have done it a hundred percent right, because Black Sans has a turn while they’re running away. He uses it on a CHECK—giving them time to get away? Maybe.

Either way, Frisk doesn’t waste precious time, trusting that he’ll follow them as they sprint further down the path.

It seems like Frisk maybe got the FIGHT kind of right but just the wrong way around, because Black Sans ends up being the one with turns while they mostly just run away. He calls something about a “worthy challenge!” and a “test of mettle!” while mazes of bone attacks appear in front of them—not his fiercest, Frisk doesn’t think, but actually a lot like training with Real Papyrus. Especially once they freeze to get through a blue attack and their SOUL drops with a friendly _ping!_

That makes it more challenging to get around the hurdles, but the jumps get lower, too, like an obstacle course. Frisk blocks their SOUL with their body as much as they can and hopes Black Sans doesn’t notice the bright red bone attack in the middle of the blue.

From the front, the hilt of the bone attack looks kind of like a little heart shape, so all of the Papyri have commented about how humans much have strong SOULs, for the core of their SOUL to resist turning blue, and they’ve gotten away with it. From behind them, though, it’s unmistakably a blade of pure magic sticking through them. But it’s mostly hidden behind their body from Black Sans, so it’s okay, right?

A bone attack swings in from the left and Frisk loses some distance when they have to slide under it and tumble back to their feet. It’s not time to worry about any bone attacks but Black Sans’s—they laugh breathlessly as what looked like one attack splits into three, to come at them from all sorts of angles. Black Sans fights dirty!

Frisk is willing to fight dirtier, though, and they started the FIGHT so far into the woods that they’re almost home. They see one of the pressure plate traps up ahead in the woods. It’s one that they set back up after triggering it, to be polite, so they know exactly how it works now, and Sans maybe doesn’t because they don’t think they set it up exactly right.

Frisk skids to a halt—Black Sans starts monologuing about their inevitable defeat—and turns to wink at their brother as they take two paces and jump straight onto the pressure plate.

A flurry of bladed weaponry hurls itself at the path, covering Frisk’s retreat as they take the last few paces across the unofficial boundary into Glyde’s territory, their safe zone. They turn to look back, letting the FIGHT end, victorious. The blue magic obligingly fades.

Sans has dodged any damage, as far as Frisk can tell, and is at the edge of the path, looking into the woods. He’s close enough to see in, they think, because he’s looking right at them.

Frisk grins and waves at him with their whole arm so he can see it for sure. They give him a thumbs up so he knows he did a good job chasing them, and then wave one more time and turn to dart back home. Glyde is around somewhere, they’re pretty sure—right, there are his eyes, looming out of the woods. They wave at him too as they go, but they don’t stop, and he melts into shadow.

A last bone attack sinks itself into a tree over their head, but it’s too far away to even have a chance of hitting them. They think Black Sans is smiling as they escape his farewell volley and run along back home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love high-violence games of tag.
> 
> Since it looks like we're crossing 100k soon (how,,,), I'm gonna celebrate! I'll be posting some deleted scenes; things that got scrapped for irrelevance or being redundant or got retconned over or whatever. If there's anything you're curious about, let me know! I'll also be posting the Cozy Papyrus battle from Underswap, which is canonical but just didn't appear in the main story. That'll probably be the next post. See you in 2 weeks!


	17. Cut Straight Through the Bush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I saw your brother_ , Frisk writes. 
> 
> Skinny Papyrus looks like they pulled a knife on him. 
> 
> "my brother? what are you talking about?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No more beating around anymore.
> 
> This whole arc is a drawn-out excuse for me to describe snow, and forests, and snowy forests. God I miss snow. Do you ever think about snow?

_I saw your brother_ , Frisk writes, sitting side by side with Skinny Papyrus in a snowbank. It molds to their body like a nice cushion as long as they don’t shift around too much and pack the snow down. They’re pretty sure Skinny Papyrus doesn’t even notice the cold, and he sure doesn’t seem to mind when his fidgeting compacts all of his snow-seat down to ice. Frisk adds little piles of powdery fluff whenever he stands up, just in case it helps.

As for how they pass the time, now that they do hang out…writing things out takes a lot longer than saying them, they’ve learned, so normally they play pen-and-paper games with Skinny Papyrus while he monologues nervously, or more rarely, they pass the time in companionable silence. They’re thinking of trying to teach him to play Hangman next time.

Today, though, Papyrus seems to have run out of things to say before he’s quite ready to be done saying them, and that’s a problem for him. He’s been looking for a topic so hard he stumbled through a conversation with himself about the lack of weather in the Underground (it is snowing today, but apparently that doesn’t count, because it’s snowing every day) before he decided that was a stupid conversation and apologized. He’s clearly out of ideas, or maybe working up to something and not sure how to start talking about it and therefore procrastinating.

Either way, that means it’s Frisk’s turn to make sure they have something to talk about. Thus, Sans: every Papyrus is happy to talk (or complain) about his Sans at length.

Apparently not this one, though, because Skinny Papyrus reads what they wrote and goes still and watchful and looks at them like they pulled a knife on him.

“my brother?” he asks. He’s looking very intent, and also like he would not like Frisk to know what he’s thinking, so they politely look at their paper and don’t try to figure it out. “what’re you talking about?”

 _Black Sans_ , Frisk clarifies, so he knows that what they know Black Sans and everyone can be on the same page (literally and metaphorically). They are a little sad that Black Sans didn’t think they were exciting enough to even mention meeting them again to Skinny Papyrus, but he might just be embarrassed about not killing them still.

For good measure, they add, _We played tag. I think he had fun._ Now Papyrus will know that they’re friends.

Skinny Papyrus visibly sorts through some stuff in his head (Frisk catches themself looking and turns back to their paper). Maybe he is having a hard time imagining Black Sans having fun.

“…black sans?” Skinny Papyrus tilts his head and squints a little, ignoring the things he’s not sure what to do with in favor of nicknaming conventions. “why ‘black’ sans? why not, i dunno, commander sans? or just sans? or…i mean i guess you probably don’t know how to spell malevolent.”

Frisk shrugs. Commander Sans and Malevolent Sans sound long and unfriendly, and also they didn’t know he was a commander of anything when they nicknamed him, and he seems to have a basically average amount of malevolence anyway. He barely had the heart to kill them, so it’s nothing to write home about.

Just Sans sounds like a name they’ll have to save for if they ever find a plain old Sans. A regular Sans. An ordinary example of average Sansness.

They’re having a hard time imagining what that Sans would be like. He’d probably have to have a coat or a uniform…? Signature footwear? He’d be interested in amateur baking?

Frisk shifts in the snow. Their pants are starting to get wet. The price they pay for friendly conversation.

Whatever the case, Skinny Papyrus seems to take their shrug as their answer. That’s good, because they don’t really have a better one for him.

“and, uh, who says he’s my brother? not all skeleton monsters are related, you know. that’s kinda racist.”

Frisk is happy to hear that there are other skeletons in this world. Sometimes Sans and Papyrus are the only ones, like in Wonderland. They don’t personally know any other skeletons besides their brothers, because their brothers aren’t related to the rest of the skeletons, maybe? But it’s good that they exist. Frisk likes to imagine that skeleton monsters are like their extended family, by adoption and also because humans are descended from ancient skeletons.

How do they know Sans and Papyrus are siblings, though…?

They’re not really sure how to explain why Black Sans has to be Skinny Papyrus’s brother. Come to think of it, they’re not sure any given Sans-and-Papyrus have any parents to make them brothers in the first place. They just…are. Sans usually tells them first thing that Papyrus is his brother, so Frisk just knows they’re a family. They always are.

…aren’t they?

 _Is he not your bro?_ Frisk writes.

Skinny Papyrus has plenty of time while he’s reading over their shoulder to answer, but he waits for them to finish writing the question, and a little longer besides.

“…yeah,” he says, finally. “he is. i, uh, i didn’t wanna say anything ‘cuz i think you guys got off on the wrong foot. i know he can be kinda…”

He shrugs uncomfortably, getting distracted by the pattern of snow falling around them.

“sans means well. it’s just…it’s a pretty scary world down here. i mean, you know how it is. must have been a big shock for you, right? it’s not easy, trying to make it through on your own.”

Frisk politely doesn’t mention that this world has been pretty safe and kind to them, actually, and most of the hard times they’ve had have been because of their own mistakes. If Papyrus says this world is hard, then it must be much harder to be an adult not protected by the law than a child hiding in the woods.

“by the time i was your age, sans had already emancipated himself and we’d run off together,” Skinny Papyrus says. He clears his nonexistent throat. “not that, uh. not that you have to care, or anything, or—i’m not trying to say he was right to hurt you. he’s real sorry about what he did. he’ll say so if you let him. i just—what i’m tryin’ to say is, even with the Underground how it is, my brother is a good monster. as much as anyone can be. if there’s anyone in the whole world you can trust, it’s sans.”

Frisk agrees. They know. Sans is a good person in his heart, even when he tries not to be.

Skinny Papyrus doesn’t seem to get that they know, though. He shakes his head, frustrated.

He gestures with his hands as he says, “ugh, i’m saying this all wrong—look, i know you don’t really have any reason to believe me, but i just. i want you to know he’s cool now, ok? he acts tough, but…between you and me, he was never gonna kill you. and now he knows you, and i know you, so it’s cool. it’s fine. just…”

He pauses, and his hands flex for a moment like he can pull the things he wants to say out of the air. Frisk listens.

After a long moment, Papyrus slumps, seeming to give up. Frisk puts a hand on his knee, in case it helps him feel understood.

“just, don’t be scared of my bro, ok? i know we haven’t hung out for that long by human standards, so maybe i can’t ask you for favors yet, but just…don’t be scared. you’d break his heart.”

He seems defeated, giving them a hangdog expression like he already knows their answer is gonna be no. But this is something Frisk can do for him—

This is something Frisk can mostly do for him. On one condition.

 _I’m not scared of Sans_ , they write, because that seems important. They’re not scared of him. They know him and they love him and they’re not afraid of who he is.

They are scared of what he’s going to do to them. No matter how nice he is, no matter how much he doesn’t want to hurt them. If Blue Sans and Shy Sans pushed them out of the world, then every Sans will.

It’s kind of weird, knowing ahead of time who’s going to take their life from them and when and how. Or knowing who’s going to take them away from their life. It’s like a boss battle that they’re never going to win—whatever they build in this world, they’re gonna lose it. It’s hard not to be scared of the hands that are going to send them away, even if the SOUL behind them doesn’t want to.

But they know what will help.

Frisk writes, _I need him to wear his gloves though. As long as he wears his gloves I promise not to be scared._

Just like every Sans except Red Sans, Black Sans has gloves over his hands. His are fingerless, which is a little bad, but they’re there. As long as Frisk can check his gloves and his not-missing tooth, as long as they’re Underground and not on the Surface yet, they can be not-scared of Sans. Black Sans is different. Every Sans is different. They all wear different kinds of gloves.

“…gloves? uh, ok,” says Skinny Papyrus. “are you sure? that’s all it takes? just, uh, gloves, and presto? you’re cool with him?”

Frisk nods. They write, _Black Sans is always cool!_ and then underline it. And circle it. For emphasis. Skinny Papyrus huffs a laugh.

“heh, i gotta say, i’m a little surprised. you’re not mad that he tried to, you know, chase you around and all?” Papyrus is tapping his pencil rapidly against his kneecap through his skinny jeans. Not that Skinny Papyrus could have any other kind of jeans, they suppose.

Frisk shrugs again and shakes their head. Skinny Papyrus keeps looking at them. He seems to need more clarification.

Frisk isn’t sure what’s so hard to understand about Black Sans being cool, but they guess they could have been very disappointed in him for trying to kill them. It hurts to see Sans try to be a worse person than he is.

He got better, though, when they let him know they weren’t having it. Once he knew they believed in him, he got better. They just had to believe in him hard enough. And now they’re not upset about how he tried to kill them, because he’s different from Red Sans, because he’s Black Sans, and basically a different person except where he’s not. He’s their brother but he doesn’t hate them.

Frisk is gonna keep it that way.

 _I think Black Sans is a good person too_ , they decide to write. Then they reconsider and cross that out and write, _I **know** Black Sans is a good person._ They trace over _know_ twice so it’s solid and strong.

Frisk knows their brother is a good person. It’s important to remember these things. Also they love him a lot, but they think it would be a little creepy to say that about him after only knowing him from when he tried to kill them.

Then again, he put a lot of effort into trying to kill them. Effort is like affection—he definitely wanted them to be impressed with him, or he wouldn’t have made so many traps. Maybe that means it would be fine to say he’s basically their brother and they love him?

No, probably still weird. Most monsters care about people quicker than most humans do, but there’s such a thing as too fast. They’ll wait on talking about lowercase-love until they’ve had at least three conversations with Black Sans, and they’ve only had two, if tag and him trying to kill them that one time both count (they’re not counting their first meeting, because he rudely didn’t bother to introduce himself before he started hurling attacks at them).

Maybe they’ll aim for three conversations where he only kind of tries to kill them—tag counts, in that case. Yeah, they’ll maybe keep it to themself until they’ve talked to him nicely two more times.

“…ok. that’s, uh, you’re pretty cool, yourself,” Skinny Papyrus says. Frisk nods—they are very cool, and that’s only about 50% because being around so many Sans and Papyri has made their coolness rub off on Frisk.

Skinny Papyrus doesn’t seem to really know what else to say, and Frisk is getting tired of having to write so much while he just waits for them to finish, so they pull out the connect-the-dots puzzle they’re trying to make for him of a skeleton wearing sunglasses (because they couldn’t figure out how to do the eye sockets without weird lines going through the skull). Skinny Papyrus has offered to help them a few times, but they want to make him a cool puzzle all on their own, for all the cool puzzles he’s made for them. And Skinny Papyrus seems to really like connect-the-dots puzzles. He keeps making them.

About an hour-ish passes, and Frisk is trying to look back and forth between the skull on their paper and Papyrus’s skull to see where they went wrong, when Papyrus speaks up again.

“…do you really call sans ‘black’ all the time?” Skinny Papyrus asks, apparently done with sad stuff. “i mean. he, uh, he has a name. not to keep coming back to this, i just literally cannot tell where you’re pulling this nickname from.”

A pause, and a nod-and-shrug from Frisk, and then, “…wait. do i have a nickname?”

He squints at them suspiciously.

Frisk writes, _Skinny Papyrus_.

Papyrus takes a long and interesting face journey. At one point his expressions get so big Frisk is worried they’ll choke him, but it brings a giggle out of them anyway. Skinny Papyrus is funny. He’s a lot like Real Papyrus sometimes.

“at least tell me it isn’t a pun, kid,” Skinny Papyrus begs, once he has his face under control (Frisk suspects he made a few extra faces just to make them laugh. They love him a lot). “‘cause, ‘skin’-y. and i don’t have skin, and. no. i can’t have that.”

He correctly interprets Frisk’s gleeful grin.

“seriously, you can’t make bad skeleton jokes. mercy, please. if you’re already corrupted, sans is gonna get even worse. i’ll be outnumbered. surrounded,” he groans. “don’t do this to me, kiddo.”

Frisk shrugs apologetically. They have an extensive repertoire of bone jokes at this point—a lot of them they don’t really understand, because they don’t know all of the bone names on their own (which one is the patella?), but they could repeat them to make a given Sans laugh or Papyrus groan.

“i am forsaken in a cruel world,” Skinny Papyrus moans, hiding his face in his hands and pretending like he’s not glancing at them from between his fingers to make sure that they laugh. Frisk giggles. “at least give me this, as my dying wish. no offense to your mad nicknaming skills. but we gotta, we gotta do something that isn’t ‘skinny.’ that, i can’t take.”

Frisk pats his elbow consolingly. Skinny(?) Papyrus miraculously recovers from his ailment.

 _Boney?_ Frisk writes, and shows him.

“betrayal. treachery and curses.”

Frisk shrugs.

“nah, try somethin’ else. or, you know, you could use my actual name, which i’ve given you. i know that i gave it to you. i was there,” Not-Skinny Papyrus says.

Frisk isn’t sure how to break it to him that he has to share his name with three different and equally special people (Pafriskus, luckily, came with his own name), so they don’t.

That does raise the question of whether it’s kinda mean to have one Papyrus be Real Papyrus when the other Papyri are all also probably real, though. Real Papyrus would claim that it’s his right to be most important, but Frisk feels like he’d want to come to a compromise later. Real Papyrus likes to be fair.

Thoughts for later. Frisk decides to explain the situation with, _I would get confused._

“…oh, wait a minute. humans all have, like, three or four names, right? you’ve got your name, and maybe a different nickname for your friends, and a secret middle name that no one can know except the government, and some other extra names after that. the, the family ones, for lineage and stuff. i know that. is that the problem? we don’t have enough names, so you gotta make some up for us?” Papyrus-From-Wonderfell asks.

That wasn’t really how Frisk was thinking about it, but…Papyri are kind of all related, right? Because they’re all basically each other but in different Undergrounds, maybe? So Papyrus could be kind of like a last name, sort of. It feels weird to call their own brother by his last name, but since it’s not really a last name, it’s probably okay. Frisk teeters their hand for _sorta-kinda_.

Papyrus makes the motion that he makes sometimes when he’s not sure what to do. It’s kinda like smoothing paper out, except without the paper, or anything to smooth it on.

“…that’s like step four in human friend-making,” he mutters. “step six? kid, would you rank this above or below visiting someone’s house? in terms of, warm and fuzzies. friendship and stuff.”

Frisk thinks about it.

On one hand, they’re only giving out nicknames because they already know several of him, and love him very much, and being family is a lot of steps above visiting someone’s house, even in Underfell where you don’t let people into your house pretty much ever. You also don’t let people in your family pretty much ever, so the stakes raise for both, Frisk figures.

On the other hand, Shy Sans and Sfrisks and Red Sans gave Frisk all sorts of nicknames pretty much instantly on meeting them, and they don’t want to accuse those Sanses of being easy, or something. And if ‘human’ counts, _every_ Sans has given them nicknames right away.

Then again, if they think about it this way…they haven’t let UnSkinny Papyrus visit their cave. So nicknames would come before house visits. But, Black Sans chased them into their cave the first time they met him, and that was about the same time he got his nickname. That’s a little like visiting their house, maybe?

They think they would let Papyrus into their cave if he showed up and asked one day. They’d worry about how he got past Glyde, but they wouldn’t be mad that he visited them or anything.

Frisk points to _I would get confused_ again. Then they write, _But you can visit me if you want!_

“oh, uh, neat,” Papyrus says, and he actually sounds pretty happy about that. “i think i’m gonna not do that ‘cause, no offense and all, but you live in a crazy deadly wasteland even by my standards. but, uh, i appreciate the thought. you can come visit me, too. except that i live with sans so maybe you’d rather not. or maybe you would? if he’s wearing gloves???”

Frisk shrugs and tilts their hand again. They don’t mind visiting Black Sans at the same time as This Papyrus. Papyrus is gonna need a better nickname before any of that, though.

Leather Jacket Papyrus just doesn’t sound like a name. Wonder Papyrus? No. That sounds like a superhero, but Frisk thinks it would maybe embarrass him. Fell Papyrus…? Frisk should maybe save that name in case they decide Real Papyrus needs a different nickname, ‘cause it’s like Fell-From Papyrus and they think he would like it. Like ‘one fell swoop’ but it’s ‘one Fell Papyrus.’

How about…Quiet Papyrus? That’s no good, either. He doesn’t yell a lot, but he does monologue, which isn’t really quiet. But Frisk thinks that might be just because they don’t talk and he gets nervous when it’s just silent.

UnSkinny Papyrus is still talking to fill the air, but Frisk tugs on his sleeve to get his attention.

“…yeah? what, is that no good?” he asks.

Frisk, who’s been listening to his voice more than what he’s saying, makes a noncommittal gesture and writes _What can I call you?_ in their notebook.

“…oh. right. uh. do you talk?” UnSkinny Papyrus asks. “wait, wait—i should have asked this a million years ago, wait a sec—how about with your hands? could we have been doing that this whole time?”

He makes some hand gestures while he asks that don’t mean anything to Frisk. They tilt their head and squint.

“oh,” Papyrus says. “well, i guess it was worth checking. sans will probably wanna teach you that later, once you get to know each other. he’s, uh, kinda a better teacher than me.”

Papyrus looks sheepish, which is a really interesting look on someone so pointy. “i mean, i could try, but—anyway. uh, i mean, i guess it doesn’t matter what kinda names you call me in your head, but let’s try to stick to, like, real names, ok? or at least something that sounds kinda cool. i can’t look you in the eye knowing you’re calling me scrawny in your head.”

Frisk actually didn’t think of ‘scrawny’ right away, and they thought it seemed a little mean when it did occur to them. But ‘skinny’ is kinda the same thing. They probably wouldn’t call him Skinny Papyrus out loud, even though they know he’s secretly super cool and tough, because maybe someone might hear them and think he’s not.

“nicknames, huh…” UnSkinny Papyrus muses. “somethin’ like skinny, but i won’t have to run away to hotland and change my name if you ever call me it where people can see you…”

He scratches his skull. Frisk scratches theirs, too. This problem is a real head-scratcher.

“how about…slim? that’s kinda similar, but it’s less, beat me up in an alleyway, and more, mysterious hooded cowboy at the bar. that sound good to you, kiddo?”

Frisk turns it around in their head. Slim Papyrus…maybe just Slim, since he wanted it to be a real name all on its own? Slim. Sssssss-lim. Sl- _im_.

They look him over appraisingly. He’s very tall, as all Papyri are; his skinny (slim?) jeans and the purple turtleneck under his leather jacket make him seem a little bit like a shadow wandering through, prone to disappearing when the light changes. He does have kind of a mysterious smoker in the corner look, at least before he starts talking and looking nervous. His gold teeth add to the intrigue.

They could totally see him in an old Western movie. The type of old Western movie that has skeleton monsters in it.

Slim. Black Sans and Slim Papyrus. Black Sans and Slim. Sans and Slim. Slim and Black? Black and Slim.

It has a ring to it. Frisk nods decisively. They like it. He can be Slim.

“there we go, then. i will need to eat that paper so there’s no evidence, but then we can call it even and forget the skin jokes ever happened,” he says.

That seems fair. It’s Slim’s mistake to think Frisk is going to forget that they can make jokes about skin to make him groan, but eating the evidence is probably his right.

Frisk looks at their shiny new notebook, a gift from Slim, and starts carefully poking holes in the paper with their pencil. If they just take out the part that says _Skinny Papyrus_ , it’s basically a Tem flake. Maybe Slim can sell it for money?

“great. i sure hope you take snow poffs as hush money,” Slim says. “wait, no, i got it—i have all these eraser scrids for you. keep your mouth shut and there’s more where that came from.”

He brushes a bunch of eraser debris to the edge of his own notebook and carefully tips them all onto Frisk’s. Frisk does not appreciate his efforts.

“nyeh-heh-heh,” Slim says. “oh boy, you should see your face. just wait ‘til i tell you about the eraser scrid tax.”

Forget the cave; Frisk is feeling very much at home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright. One more chapter and this part of the Swapfell arc will be over--I've been looking forward to next chapter forever. It was actually supposed to be like 5 chapters ago, but so many scenes cropped up in the meantime that I ended up with a whole arc of Frisk running around in the woods trying to win everyone's affections with their durability and resistance to death. But next chapter,, finally,,, the buildup will pay off,,,, and then I can finally have all 3 of these characters in one scene,,,,, I Cannot Wait. I'm vibrating.
> 
> Also, I love the continued comedy of misunderstandings/straight up missed connections. Slim's just out here like "oh i need a nickname? sweet. we're basically besties. soon i will be able to lure this kid into relative safety and they won't be homeless anymore. my (sans's) nefarious plan is nearly complete." while Frisk is "Wow I love my great brother who I met in several alternate universes and also this one. I would definitely live with him in a heartbeat if he asked, and might move in eventually even if he doesn't because I Love Him." affection (and secrets) are stored in the Frisk.


	18. You've Gotta Chase it Sometimes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you don't pounce on happiness, they'll stop dangling it in front of your nose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :) :) not much to say except that I'm real proud of this chapter, and I hope you like it as much as I do!
> 
> **Briefing:**  
>  I imagine that blue attacks take less energy to use/make than white attacks, because otherwise they're just super avoidable for no real payoff unless you get really good at strategizing for them. I mean culturally they'd probably be a good 'stop moving right now' signal, but they've gotta have some other advantages, right?

Frisk is pretty excited about meeting Black Sans on friendly terms. They’re super excited about how he’s pretty much stopped trying to kill them, and they can’t wait to be friends with him.

But. That said. They have a little tiny bit of a problem.

They need to _impress_ Black Sans.

Black Sans is very cool-looking, with his neatly pressed uniform and its many badges and buckles, and his very sharp teeth and cool purple eyes. He’s intimidating and powerful. He stands up very straight and talks like there’s a whole crowd listening to him all of the time. He seems like a skeleton with standards.

Frisk is probably not going to meet those standards with their once-nice, now-filthy-and-half-destroyed sweater, and their hair that started out scraggly and is now sticky with pine sap and snarled beyond salvation in parts, and the dirt and scrapes on their skin that snow-scrubs don’t really clean off. Their boots are probably the most well-kept part of their appearance, and even those are beginning to show concerning splits at the soles.

It strikes Frisk as deeply unfair that they’ve begun to split so early in this Underground, when they never have before. They think it might be because the snow is hostile. Come to think of it, that would explain their sweater, too—they could swear it was in better repair when they first Fell. Now it’s surviving mostly because Frisk really, really needs it to.

Suffice to say that Frisk has moved from being the ‘before’ picture in a glow-up to being one of the child actors who poses for sad posters about child neglect.

It’s possible that Black Sans won’t mind how they look, because he already knows what they look like and he is also responsible for several of their singes, but ~~Real~~ Fell Papyrus always said how important it is to impress a new ally with their greatness. And also to wear clothes to show that they care. Frisk is wearing clothes, but next to Slim’s fancy scarves and Black Sans’s sharp uniform, they feel kind of…

Well. It was one thing to meet Slim out in the woods very covertly, because Slim is kind of doing the thing that Sanses usually do, where he hangs out in the woods and makes jokes and is their friend pretty much as soon as he decides not to kill them. Frisk doesn’t really need to impress him, because he already likes them. They might have to FIGHT him on the way past Snowdin and then he’ll like them even better, but for now he’s cool.

Black Sans isn’t like that. He killed them pretty much instantly, not for fun like Red Sans did at first, but because…Frisk isn’t really sure why, but he seemed to have a really good reason (they’re trying not to think too much about his reasons). It’s enough to know that he felt bad, but he obviously thought he was doing what he had to do. And that he laid all sorts of traps, a lot like Fell Papyrus back in Underfell, and not even a little like Red Sans, who didn’t lay a single trap except his huge machine, and that doesn’t really count anyway and also Black Sans hasn’t put that anywhere so he must not have one.

Black Sans is _way_ more like Fell Papyrus than like Red Sans. Basically no Sans is like Red Sans. Red Sans might not even be like Red Sans, which means that Black Sans is totally different and they’re gonna not think about it anymore.

Now that they’ve gotten through a FIGHT with Black Sans and he says he won’t kill them anymore, and he basically apologized to them very loudly by the conveniently-shaped lamp, they’re past the stage of their relationship where he wants them dead. That means Frisk needs to have one solid hangout with him so he’ll be their friend. A _really_ solid hangout. And then one more before they can be a family again. When Slim brings Black Sans to the woods to meet them, they’re going to have their chance.

So. They need to do something to impress Black Sans. He put so much effort into his traps, and Frisk wants to show that they’re putting in effort, too. They want him to be impressed. He said they’re smart and strong, and they want him to think they’re cool, too. They won’t give him a reason to change his mind.

How can they make sure their first 100% intentional, planned-in-advance, official hangout with Black Sans goes well?

This is the problem. It’s kind of stumped them for a whole afternoon.

Frisk doesn’t know where to buy better clothes, for one thing, and they think they might freeze if they tried to wash theirs in the river. And when they look at it, their sweater is more repairs than actual knitting…it might not survive being washed, even if they tried. Then they’d be really, really cold in a gross, dirty t-shirt when they meet Black Sans, and that won’t impress anyone.

They also don’t know where to find a hairbrush to neaten up their hair, or even just some shampoo. Or soap. And they’ll only get access to a shower if they move in with their brothers again, which will have to wait until after their meeting with Black Sans.

So dressing up nice and trying to look clean is kind of out. They’re just gonna have to work with what they have and look kind of shabby. What else can they do?

The only thing they can really think of is to bring their own food, as a special surprise for Black Sans. Slim has taken food out to Frisk, and now they’re good friends, so it has to work in reverse for Black Sans, right?

They’ll always remember how, in their first hangout after their FIGHT, Fell Papyrus made special food for them to eat.

Sans stood behind him and frantically mimed at them not to eat it. He was concerned, what with the vinegar and the broken glass and all, but Frisk wouldn’t let him teleport it out and insisted on eating it anyway. It was a test of courage and good faith and also pain tolerance on the inside of their mouth, and all of those things turned out to be really important to being Fell Papyrus’s friend. What a great way to start a friendship!

That hangout was a really memorable first friendship-impression, which Fell Papyrus made _after_ the murder phase of the relationship. Frisk and Black Sans are about to also have their first real, intentional hangout after the murder phase. So, if Frisk wants to make a good friendship-impression now that Black Sans is done trying to kill them, now is their chance! They need to get special food, and if he eats it, they’re friends now! Like feeding a stray cat. Perfect.

But that solution just leads to the next problem.

Unfortunately, Frisk doesn’t have a way to cook. They’ve mostly been living off of occasional “totally not a gift, dude”s from the teens, and Slim’s contributions. One time Glyde felt particularly sane and friendly and told them about his food stash, but they haven’t dared to take from it yet.

They think it would probably be rude to give Slim’s food right back to his brother, and tacky to re-gift from the teens. So, Frisk needs to acquire some other good food that shows they care, and then give it to Black Sans, preferably in the woods or in his house for an Official Hangout Zone and a safe place to pull out the Friendship HUD.

So. Where to get cool and impressive and not-re-gifted food?

This would be an insurmountable issue if Frisk had never been Underground before. Especially since they don’t really want to brave the Inn again, in case the bunny in charge asks more about their adult supervision situation. They don’t need the Royal Guard—and therefore, Undyne—getting involved before they even make friends with their brothers. That takes out cinnamon bunnies as an option.

Frisk is in luck, though. They _have_ been Underground before, several times, and they have a pretty good guess for where else they can find good food.

Grillby’s is probably in Hotland in this world, because the nice flame lady was in the Ruins instead of the spiders, which means that Muffet’s is likely in Snowdin, like in Wonderland. Muffet makes food that’s very expensive, so it must be good. Black Sans seems like he’d appreciate the finer things in life.

Frisk doesn’t really have any money to buy nice food with after visiting both the store and the Snowed Inn, but they’re gonna scout it out first, to try to find what they want to save up for. Then once they play Deadly Snow Basketball enough, they can buy a good pastry and Black Sans will be really happy with them!

It’s a good plan, and Frisk is proud of it. Not as good as their plan to keep playing tag with Black Sans, but it’s up there. They’ve even prepared a note for Muffet, so she’ll know that they’re going to give her money eventually and doesn’t feed them to her pet.

Frisk is pretty excited as they make their SAVE just inside of town and stroll down the street. They don’t bounce or smile a lot or anything, because they’re in public and it would be super embarrassing to die right in the town square for not paying attention, but they have a spring in their step as they keep a wary eye on their surroundings.

Everything gets warmer in Snowdin town than in the woods. The stinging snowflakes stop falling, and Frisk didn’t even realize how dry and itchy their eyes were until they melt a little. They rub them carefully, one at a time so they can keep the other open.

The temptation to lay their head down and rest is almost irresistible. If Grillby’s existed, warm and welcoming, they’re sure they would sneak into a booth and doze for a while. He usually let them get away with it.

But! Grillby’s doesn’t exist here. Frisk is on a mission, and it’s an exciting mission, and they’re not gonna fall asleep on the job! Frisk revels in the warmth while they have it and they keep going.

Most monsters notice them and glance down at their striped sweater before moving on along their business. A punked-out bunny monster nods. Frisk nods back, because that’s polite. They weren’t raised by Ice Wolf.

Frisk shuffles through town, further than they’ve been so far, watching for familiar landmarks. There’s the igloo of efficient transportation. The sign that explains it is made of stone instead of wood. There’s the huge tree in town—surprisingly, it’s not cut down. There’s a tall, spiked fence that protects its severe-looking decorations. There are no gifts beneath it.

Past the tree stands a large, purple building that looks a little like a witch’s candy house. Muffet’s is very elegant, as always. In this world, it has all sorts of little spider webs like frost in the windows, too thick to see inside. It has a sturdy but lovely structure, with not even a single hole or dent from stray attacks.

Muffet must be as formidable as Grillby is in Underfell, for her pastry shop to be a safe zone. Or maybe it’s that Muffet’s attacks don’t make holes in her wall, and no one else survives long enough to do any damage.

That’s why Frisk has their SAVE, though. They’re not sure why death is weird in Wonderfell, because they’re pretty sure that using the REFUSE option overwrites their SAVE, but as long as they don’t REFUSE they can always try again.

Muffet’s door is the only non-purple part of the outside of the building, made of sturdy, blackened wood. It has an ornate silver doorknob and an opaque window that goes over Frisk’s head, but at least they don’t have to knock and wait.

The doorknob is bitingly cold—Snowdin isn’t as frigid as the woods, but it’s still a metal fixture outside. Frisk wouldn’t lick it. The intricate carvings give them a good grip on it, though, so they can at least turn it without waiting for their hands to thaw.

Frisk puts their shoulder into it and pushes the door with all their weight. Predictably, there are cobwebs in the way that make navigating the restaurant slow going. It’s probably another way to keep people from starting FIGHTs inside. The door jams on them a little, but begins to give when they shove with everything they’ve got. It’s a test of will…

Frisk gets a glimpse of neat, mouthwatering displays of spider foods, and a sign that they’d bet anything says _Made with Real Spiders!_ as the door submits to their superior drive and opens a crack. It looks like a pretty tea parlor inside, with lace doilies on a few tables and a few monsters sitting with their snacks and drinks. Warmth and fresh baking scents bloom out of the building, leaving Frisk’s face and hands flushed and their belly yearning. They pause to take it in, and also because the door is being stubborn.

Then the door falls the rest of the way open in a second, and Frisk nearly falls with it, right into Black Sans. They stumble to his left with all of their leftover momentum, and he steps aside to dodge.

Frisk looks at Black Sans.

Black Sans looks at Frisk.

They can’t very well scout for gifts for him if he’s right here…

“H-child!” he addresses them, like a scolding. He raises his arms and glances at down to make sure he has gloves on before he clamps his hands on Frisk’s shoulders to right them and then turn them right on around. He makes a face that’s very fussy, already chiding.

“What are you doing in Muffet’s at this time of day? This is not the time for sugary pastries! Think about your teeth. If you’re not careful, they’ll fall out from too many sweets,” Black Sans insists, herding them outside. “I, of course, would never enjoy a pastry! My cooking is far superior. I cannot understand why my brother wastes so much time at that establishment, but you will never catch me there. You would think he’d never lost a tooth before!”

Frisk lets Black Sans ferry them through town at a rapid clip, lecturing all the way. He’s bringing them back towards the forest, so apparently they’re going to have to scout Muffet’s some other time.

They’re not sure how to tell him they’re not worried about losing teeth on account of how they’ll probably die before they get any cavities anyway, and they also have three more molars to lose, so it’s going to happen with or without sweets involved. They lost some of those molars in Underfell after they were there for a few months, so he’ll probably see it happen sooner or later.

That’s hard to communicate through charades while speeding through town. He seems to be having a good time complaining about sugary sweets and how much Slim likes them and how he, the Malevolent Sans, would never have such a weakness, so they let him talk instead.

“And! If you are truly so desperate as to eat such unhealthy foods, I will have you know, the Malevolent Sans is an excellent chef capable of many dishes. As I am a skeleton of great honor, you will find that not one of my foods is poisoned! Which is much better than can be said for Muffet’s establishment,” Black Sans huffs. “Truly, human, I had expected better taste. After your excellent choices in allies, I would think you’d do better. I suppose your acceptable taste in ‘buds’ does not lead to acceptable tastebuds.”

Frisk snorts trying to muffle a laugh, just in case Black Sans wasn’t actually meaning to make a joke, but he has a twinkle in his eye that they think means good humor. Underfell’s Sans would always make silly jokes like that after an argument, to let them know everything was okay again.

Black Sans tugs on his gloves in the same way Blue Sans always did, adjusting them. Frisk sticks their tongue out at him to show they do too have tastebuds, and dismisses the comparisons.

Black Sans narrows his eyes, still chivvying them past the _Snowdin_ sign.

“Is this some human form of salute, to respect a clever tongue?” he asks suspiciously.

Frisk grins and doesn’t tell him anything.

“Hmph. I suppose your admiration is due,” he says, “after all, I am a skeleton of great standing, and my wit has been known to be devastating.”

Frisk nods. They believe that.

Black Sans, looking like he expected them to argue, says, “…yes, well. I am glad that you recognize my superior intellect. It is good to get some recognition.”

He has an arm around theirs as he steers them past Lesser Dog’s station, encouraging them to keep up with his businesslike pace. He only slows down a little once they’re cleanly out of sight of Snowdin and any of its inhabitants. It’s still a brisk walk, but Frisk isn’t worrying about having to run to keep up with him.

“I must question your wisdom, however, in entering Muffet’s parlor—especially given what I must assume about your finances. Certainly you know that walking into a spider’s web unprepared can rarely end well.” Black Sans herds Frisk in front of him across a bridge, and they’re nearly out to—ah, there it is, their next SAVE point.

“Or perhaps you had some plan in mind. Anyway, in the future, do not enter Muffet’s parlor with whatever pitiful funds you are carrying. If you have not died yet, we won’t have you doing it there. Simply inexcusable,” Black Sans huffs. “…and illegal. you cannot endanger yourself so irresponsibly in the future. Papyrus would be disappointed in you.”

Oh, no Papyrus would be…wait a minute.

Frisk frowns at Black Sans and shakes their head. Slim wouldn’t be disappointed in them if they died at Muffet’s, they’re pretty sure. He might be kinda sad, or surprised, maybe? But he knows that everything is dangerous all of the time, so it would just make sense that they die a time or two, they’re pretty sure.

Black Sans seems to catch their meaning. His pace picks up again as he raises his chin in picture-perfect offense.

“Fine, then _I_ would be disappointed. If I won’t kill you, I expect you not to die to anyone else, either.”

Frisk shrugs. He would and in fact _has_ killed them, so they’re probably fine to go wherever and die however in the future, right? It’s not fun, but they’d hate to see what would happen if Black Sans banned them from dying at all.

Speaking of which, they disengage from Black Sans for just long enough to make the SAVE by the path as they pass through what would have been an ice slide/Deadly Spike puzzle in Underfell. In Wonderfell, barbed wire grips the ice with gravel poured over it to make a useable path for anyone wearing good shoes. This dedication to public utilities fills them with DETERMINATION.

Black Sans blinks suspiciously at them and at the surrounding forest just for safety’s sake, but lets them SAVE to their heart’s content. That’s nice of him, because their heart is pretty content right now. The only thing that would make this better is if they had food, or maybe some other way to impress him.

Wait. Wait a minute.

Another way to impress him…

Snow gets caught on their eyelashes as it falls from the ceiling. There’s a fresh coat, as always, everywhere but on the path. Including under the SAVE point.

An evil idea occurs to Frisk.

Black Sans is on the path, and Frisk is only about two steps off of it, not lost in the magic shadows of the woods, but close. He’s faced away from them, keeping an eye on the opposite side of the path near Glyde’s territory.

He’s trusting that he’ll at least hear them die as a warning if there’s a threat from their side. The woods are quiet today, without even a plip-plip of snow falling off of the branches. Not a watchful silence, but an absence. No one is around but the two of them.

Frisk is unsupervised. There’s plenty of snow all around them. Black Sans is monologuing about the dangers of wandering into strange establishments unprepared and how they don’t have an income so it’s ultimately not their fault, merely an egregious lacking that must be addressed. He’s taking out his wallet as he talks, clinking G around. He’s looking away.

Frisk stoops slowly, casually down. Don’t mind them, they’re tying their nonexistent shoelaces, it’s fine, it’s all good…

The surface of the snow is soft and fluffy, too cold to melt and freeze into ice. It hardly makes a sound at all for Frisk to scoop some up and breathe on it, trying to get it to melt at least a little so it’ll stick together. It’s magic snow, so it compacts like a dream.

Frisk packs up a perfect dodecahedron of snow. Since they don’t want to hurt him, it doesn’t matter how tight they make it; he won’t take any damage even if they hurl an icicle at him. But he’ll be more impressed if there’s more force. Like Undyne!

They eye their target, preparing for the perfect ambush.

They couldn’t ask for a better opportunity. Black Sans has let his guard down—not to the rest of the woods, which he’s facing, but to Frisk. And Frisk appreciates that, they really do. They appreciate it all the way to _epic snowball warfare_.

While he’s futzing with his money, they wind up and bean Black Sans directly in the back of his uniform with their best snowball shot. In a beautiful display of physics and the transference of inertia, he stumbles and his wallet flies ahead of him, nearly reaching the other edge of the path with G scattered all around. Black Sans is the leprechaun at the end of a very long and violent rainbow.

He stiffens, back to them and ready to dodge their next assault before blowing them to smithereens.

_vmm-SHMP_ goes his instinctive counterattack, and Frisk dives out of the way of a whole bouquet of bones springing out of the ground. They roll to their feet on the path again, kicking up fresh snow in a spray. They don’t pack up another snowball yet, in case he sends another attack and they need to move.

The bulk of the snowball plops off of Black Sans’s back and onto the ground, while little pieces still stick to his fancy uniform, totally out of place on the nice black fabric.

Frisk grins and bounces on their toes.

They can see the exact moment he realizes they didn’t do any damage at all, because they can _feel_ his grin and the matching glint of mixed mischief and irritation in his eye. They’re pretty sure he’s impressed with their nerve, because they think that’s what Red Sans and Fell Papyrus would feel.

“H u m a n,” Black Sans intones, turning around oh so slowly, “you ambush was well thought out. Your attack, exact and devastating. But you have made a crucial miscalculation.”

Frisk hears a _clack-clack_ -ing as a lattice of bones rises at the edge of the forest behind them, marking a clear out-of-bounds area. Black Sans breaks off a chunk of the compacted almost-ice on the road.

“You prepared for an ambush.” Black Sans’s eyes light up. “But this…is war.”

-

In the end, The Great Snowball Feid lasts a little less than an hour, by Frisk’s best estimate. It’s hard to keep track of time when they’re having so much fun. Casualties include: several trees, Blacks Sans’s wallet, any neatness left to Frisk’s hair, and a cinnamon bunny (for healing. Black Sans is enthusiastic but gets carried away, and he insisted on a time-out for Frisk to heal up when they dipped below 10 HP). Some of the snow on the path has melted, and there are several splintered branches and spent bone attacks littered all over.

There was maybe a little bit more escalation than either Frisk or Blacks Sans was planning on, but their battle was epic and legendary and Frisk is _sure_ Black Sans likes them now, at least a little. And they know he’s _really_ strong—they already knew that, of course, but even Fell Papyrus never flattened a whole section of Snowdin woods just for fun.

It’s a good thing they’re nearest to the no-man’s land between Glyde and the teens’ spaces, because somebody would have had to start evacuating bystanders otherwise. Black Sans must be _impossible_ to beat in a real FIGHT. Frisk just knew he was the coolest!

Eventually, though, even their big brother’s stamina has to wane. Black Sans takes his turn and sits on it, refusing to let the FIGHT progress as he pants heavily in the snow.

“I have long wished to…test myself against a human…in a battle of mettle,” he says. He’s trying to catch his breath, which is undercutting his monologue a little bit, but Frisk thinks it gives him kind of a badass warrior air.

They cock their head to ask how they measure up, lungs burning as they try to catch their own breath. The cold air stings their lungs, but it’s invigorating.

“Of course…before, you…were not giving your full efforts…towards victory. Clearly I could not…fully account for your skills with…incomplete information. But now, I think I understand.” Black Sans’s posture has drooped to be several notes off of perfect, but he still looks sort of dignified. His uniform is caked in snow and ice, but it’s all in place and still neat.

For their part, Frisk starts trying to break up the clumps of snow in their hair before they melt and Frisk has to deal with being cold and wet all day. It seems like Black Sans is going to let them rest a moment, so they mime sitting intentionally as they let their legs collapse. It doesn’t look like Black Sans’s turn is gonna end soon, and this snowball FIGHT really took it out of them.

“The strength of a human SOUL is not its statistics or its magical potential, but rather, your “DETERMINATION” to succeed is such that…you never give up. Even when faced with an unparalleled opponent of the highest esteem, such as myself…a deadly commander of the Royal Guard!” Black Sans announces. He pauses like he’s waiting for their shock and awe, but Frisk is pretty sure he’s already told them he’s with the Guard at some point. Or Slim did?

Frisk shrugs and nods. His point is true enough, they suppose.

“Ah-ha!” Black Sans exclaims, like he’s made a huge discovery off of them. “You see, human…such a quality is an invaluable asset in the Underground. Which means that it is very valuable, not that it is without value. I can see how this word would be ambiguous to young minds.”

Frisk appreciates the clarification. They do know what ‘invaluable’ means, but it’s always confused them.

“In any case. I would be remiss in allowing this advantage to be squandered in incompetence or unrefined training, human. Thus, I have allowed you today to challenge me to a gauntlet of utmost skill and impressive displays of power and strategy, the likes of which have not been seen since my brother and I were your age…! And, human, you have not disappointed. I am as astonished as you, I know, to announce that you have risen to my challenge to challenge me, and not only met but surpassed my barest expectations. You have potential, human,” Black Sans lectures.

Frisk would think he’s monologuing to buy himself time to recover, but actually, Black Sans might just be like this all the time. Or maybe it’s both, and he strategically monologues all the time?

Frisk is looking forward to finding out. Maybe he’ll be so impressed with their snowball skills that he’s gonna ask to be friends and let them live in his garage.

They should start brainstorming for a way to politely let him know that they would like to eat things that aren’t dog food with water sausages cut up in it, just in case. Slim would probably sneak them real food either way, though.

Frisk drifts towards ACT without really thinking about it, before they stop.

Something about this doesn’t seem right.

Black Sans is still talking and hasn’t chosen what to do with his turn. He’s stalling out the battle, probably because he’s too tired to FIGHT even just for fun, but doesn’t want to admit defeat.

But it’s Frisk’s turn, too.

And if the battle hasn’t dissolved yet…

Black Sans must read from their face that something is wrong, because he stiffens and glances around him—a second too late.

Gyftrot looms behind Black Sans, easily three times his size and with enough malice to kill him. Frisk’s pretty blue ribbon dangles loosely from one of his front tines on his left antler.

Frisk doesn’t think for a second. They have one chance, and they take it.

Choosing to ACT to undecorate, Frisk darts forwards, startling the Gyftrot and Sans alike into rearing back—the Gyftrot much higher than Black Sans. Frisk ducks past Black Sans and snatches away the blue ribbon when he hesitates. Frisk dances back with the ribbon clutched tightly to their chest.

And then it hits them—Black Sans isn’t running.

Because they’re still in a stationary battle, and Frisk already used their now-shared turn.

Frisk meets his eye for a fraction of a moment, not long enough to see what he’s thinking, before they pick him up, too, shove the ribbon into his hands and sprint full-force to the boundaries of the bullet box. Gyftrot is beginning to charge already, and Frisk winces as they hit the end of their allotted space, unable to move any further, trapped—

They REFUSE to be limited. The bullet box comes with them.

It’s their turn again, and before Frisk can choose anything, Black Sans makes a split-second ACT and chooses _dodge_ , which isn’t even an option for Frisk. A _ping!_ of blue magic hurls them forward just as a massive hoof strikes the path behind them and a bellowed roar echoes through the woods. Past the boundaries of the FIGHT, Frisk can vaguely see snow shaking from the trees.

Dragging a stationary FIGHT with them is slowing them down, but Frisk can’t take the time to try to change it. Black Sans’s blue magic is helping them forward, but they have maybe eight feet between them and the Gyftrot, and their lead is getting shorter by the second.

Sans can see it, too. Frisk spares an instant of carelessness to look desperately at him, out of options. They think about tossing him to the side to see if he’ll get out of the encounter, but more likely they’ll brain him on the edge of the bullet box and leave him dazed and helpless.

“Put me down,” Black Sans says, unquestionably an order. Frisk obeys instantly, and their sprint gets just a touch faster. Not fast enough—Sans is made of dust and not very heavy—but it’s closer.

Black Sans isn’t sprinting with them.

Frisk whirls to the familiar, awful sound of breaking bones, already terrified of what they’ll see. They find Black Sans raising layers upon layers of interlocking bone walls, four coming up in a single second. The Gyftrot smashes through each of them, but it’s getting slower.

Just not slow enough.

Black Sans is still stationary, holding his ground with increasing desperation as the Gyftrot crushes another wall completely. Saving on energy, he uses blue attacks to raise another wall, and another, and another; but Gyftrot’s antlers are visible again in a second as it roars at his defiance. Purple attacks that Frisk has never seen before attempt to restrain the Gyftrot, slowing it down as it batters through each and every obstacle.

It’s taking damage, but not enough. FIGHTing defensively isn’t good enough for this battle.

Black Sans sees it too, on the same page as Frisk probably before they even get there. He lights the world up as he summons all of the laser skulls he can muster, trembling with effort while the Gyftrot shrieks and thrashes but doesn’t turn to dust.

_He’s going to be okay_ , Frisk thinks, still backing away, but painfully slowly. It’s not that they’re afraid to leave him, because he’s gonna be fine, it’s just…

_He’s going to be okay, he’s fine, Sans and Papyrus are always fine. He’s always fine. He’s so strong. He’s fine._

They want to run with everything in them, but something keeps them glued to the scene, Sans’s desperation in throwing every attack he has, the Gyftrot inching towards him anyway like a slow death.

_He’s going to be okay, he’s going to be okay, he—he’s going to die._

Something hot and rushing rises in Frisk. A realization. Sans has never, ever died. Never. Frisk is going to watch him FIGHT so hard and so bravely and still die.

Anyone can die. Anyone can disappear in a moment, turn to dust in an instant. No matter how smart, how strong, how ruthless. Anyone.

Just not Sans. Not Sans and Papyrus. _Please._

Chara’s grief and empathy are terrible to feel—they’ve watched, too, helpless to interfere as their brother was brave and fierce and selfless and died just the same.

It’s Frisk and Sans’s turn. Sans has chosen to FIGHT—maybe so Frisk could run, maybe because it was hopeless and he wanted to go out as defiant and furious as ever—and it’s not going to be enough.

Frisk doesn’t cry.

They don’t try to go back to him.

They don’t close their eyes.

Frisk reaches deep into their SOUL, instead, and uses the only thing they have that could save him.

Ripping the bone attack out feels like dying a hundred times over. Their SOUL fractures as they take a firm grip of its core and pull, hard, until it gives. Even with it wrenched out of them, they can feel the emptiness where it belongs; can feel their hand, warm and too harsh, around its jagged edges. It’s too much. It’s a raw nerve that they’ve torn from their heart while they try desperately to keep it beating.

It has to be enough. It _has_ to be enough.

The attack guides their hand as much as their hand guides the attack, hurling it over Black Sans’s shoulder and watching it summon the vision of an end that they saw in that hall so long ago. There are no white bones this time, though. No pure magic to speak of.

Every bone is red, scrolling past Frisk and Black Sans like a constantly-shifting net while taller bones, bigger than Frisk is, are summoned to their sides. Searing-sharp attacks dart through the air and make familiar _thud_ s and _schlikt_ noises as they bury themselves in fur and flesh. And then there are the skulls—fewer than Red Sans had, but larger and furiously protective as they hover over Black Sans and deliver laser blows of their own. They’ll shatter a thousand times before they allow him to be harmed.

The attack was made with a single-minded desperation to _save_ , no matter the cost, and delivered with the fear and resolution of someone choosing FIGHT for the very first time. DETERMINATION seeps into every blow, and holding the attack feels like dying. Frisk is losing something vital with each bone they summon and each blast they make.

They can barely control it. They don’t know if a bone attack or a laser or another wall will rise next; all they can do is point it at the enemy and beg, _save him, save him. Be enough to save him_.

They remember their brothers teaching them about LOVE.

_If, one day, you happened to come home having gained LOVE—the door would still open! Your very great and terrible friend Papyrus will still recognize you!_

_LOVE is not a death sentence for who you are on the inside! That person will still exist, and I will know where to find them!_

_(screaming in the back of your head, said Sans, and then that person is dead)._

What Papyrus said…Frisk always believed it. They always, always believed it, from their bones to their brain to their SOUL.

But it’s not true, is it?

Even now, Papyrus doesn’t recognize them. Not really. Not as his sibling, who he took in and raised and guarded with LOVE and dust. Not as the human he risked everything to spare.

Frisk knew, they always knew they’d have to FIGHT one day. There’s no such thing as a pacifist. But they just thought…

They thought they would come _home_ afterward. They thought the door would be open for them.

It doesn’t matter. None of that matters in the face of what could happen to Sans. Thoughts and feelings and—none of it matters next to simple life and death.

Frisk’s eyes burn, but their vision doesn’t blur and their hands stay steady.

They won’t falter and they won’t flinch. They’re gonna be like Papyrus and keep their brother safe, even if it scares him, even if he doesn’t love them anymore afterwards. They’ll save Sans at any cost, and they won’t leave room in their heart to regret it. Not at all. Not for an instant.

Destruction reigns as Black Sans’s attacks falter out, replaced by Frisk’s red bolts of damage. He pulled out all the stops in his own assault, and now he’s beyond exhausted, swaying on his feet. Fizzling white attacks crumble and dissolve. Frisk couldn’t be more alert.

Between the two of them, it’s enough.

The Gyftrot bellows and rears back, making a sound like a scream as it nearly collapses. Each bone pushes it away, farther and farther, until it dives into the woods. Alive, at least for now, but gone. It’s retreated, and Sans survived.

And then the scrolling bones evaporate, the walls around them disappearing. The attacks hovering in the air, waiting for direction, dissipate one by one, until only one small bone is left.

The last thing to go is a skull monster, hovering over Black Sans like shelter. It meets Frisk’s eye with one of its eerie, flat irises before vanishing back into the bone attack.

Frisk staggers toward Black Sans and barely makes it before the bone attack slams back home. They reel under its damage, but somehow, it doesn’t kill them.

It’s agony. But Frisk reaches out to Black Sans, face wet with tears, and neither one of them dies.

* * *

It takes maybe forty seconds for Papyrus to appear. After a lightshow like that, Sans would expect nothing less. He must have dropped everything to come, teleporting down the path until he could find where it came from. Unlike any sensible person, who would have seen evidence of a desperate FIGHT between several great powers and immediately gotten scarce.

Neither of them have ever been sensible in that regard. Papyrus saw blaster fire and came as quickly as he could, which is exactly what Sans would do in his position.

Fear is already in his eyes when he catches sight of Sans, sitting slumped on the side of the road. There are clear drag marks showing his path to the nearest tree for some illusion of cover. The human is still clinging to him with hitched breaths, clutching his hand and the ribbon they’d freed from the Gyftrot. If they hadn’t grabbed it when they did, it would have been incinerated in the destruction afterwards.

Or perhaps there would have been no destruction, as Sans would have certainly used that first turn to end their stationary FIGHT and at least _try_ to let both of them escape. Or perhaps there is some significance to the ribbon that makes it worth sacrificing their crucial first turn for. Some advantage it gave them that they would not otherwise have, or armor that would have supported the Gyftrot. Sans supposes he will never know, unless the child decides he ought to.

Sans keeps his expression flat and calm as Papyrus looks him over for damage. He has none—the human’s play-FIGHT did no harm to him, and if the Gyftrot had touched him, he would be dead.

The human, next—Sans watches his brother’s CHECK, knowing what it will show. The human’s singular HP. The damage is entirely from the attack they summoned, utterly nonlethal by design but nevertheless capable of massive damage when powered by appropriate desperation.

Sans was wrong about the human’s DETERMINATION. It’s not time travel at all—it’s magic, and its cost is the human’s HP. Their power is fueled by their very life.

The fabric of the world itself crackled angrily when the magic returned to their SOUL, but without negative effects, it calmed again. It left a feeling very much like a failed shortcut—in fact, it almost seemed like the Barrier itself had stopped them, and nothing less.

Sans isn’t sure what to make of it, except to think that there is very little that this human couldn’t accomplish with their DETERMINATION.

There are times to concern himself with power, though, and times to concern himself with other things.

Sans shifts the human, who is insisting on wetting the shoulder of his uniform with their unhappiness, and signs to his brother around them.

“This human is a mage,” he signs.

Papyrus blinks.

It was Sans’s own stupidity that left him carelessly disturbing the woods when he _knew_ Gyftrot wasn’t hibernating as usual. His own thoughtlessness and eagerness to test the human’s skills, to find the best home for this creature that Papyrus is so fond of, to find a way around his promise to slaughter them. He wanted to know they were strong enough to have a hope of survival.

He knows now. He was the adult in that situation, and the one who should have known better—but instead, he was the one who brought the Gyftrot down on both of their heads, and together, they survived.

If it had been Sans alone…

He saw the writing on the wall. He knew he couldn’t win, he knew it was stupid to turn and FIGHT, but no more stupid than any other choice. If he’d been thinking, he could have tossed the human at the Gyftrot and escaped while it was occupied; if the human hadn’t wielded magic, that would be the only real chance he would have had to survive.

It wasn’t even a possibility, in the end.

If he did that, he would no longer be Sans. He would be one more monster drowned in LOVE, pushing his own self further and further away in some attempt to deny that he’d ever existed under the rage and fear. He would be a danger, and little more.

He cannot condemn that, but he also couldn’t be that person.

Sans wouldn’t have survived no matter what—it was a hopeless situation. He chose to go down saving someone, to do something right with his last seconds and pray that the human really could turn back time.

Instead…

Sans signs, “This human saved my life.”

And now he owes them everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus, the end of this mini-arc! Next arc is the family arc :)
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter's big moments. I put a lot of thought into Frisk's actions this chapter, and I'm happy to explain them more, but this is what we've been working towards since SF started, and even before. I'm so proud of the little breadcrumbs I left leading up to this :D< how do you feel about it?


	19. R&R&R (Rest and Rage and Recover)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a section of this chapter that deals with mercy-killing/the Underfell version of hospice care(?). It's conceptual and doesn't actually happen, but the train of thought is explored fairly thoroughly. If you wanna skip that, skip from "Then, if Wonderfell is like home..." to "...if this were Underfell."
> 
>  **Briefing:**  
>  The various AUs are mostly the same in terms of major events up until Chara and Asriel's plan. 'fell verses were slightly less placid than their counterparts, but by no means malicious. The separation between any 'verse and its Fell counterpart is actually quite thin up to that point, and hinges on the ruling monarch doing one thing that they considered vs. another thing that they also considered. Add several generations of increased pressure and cook on high for 100 years, then observe as paths wildly diverge.
> 
> Another note: Frisk can speak in some of their dreams (depends on the dream), but they generally don't.

Frisk is tired. Really tired. And kind of maybe upset. Mostly tired.

Their body has quietly numbed itself to cold and is reporting all pain as a general ache that won’t go away. Their SOUL hurts _so much_.

Luckily, Black Sans doesn’t seem to mind them clinging to him even though it must look pathetic. He even carried them like a koala while he dragged himself out of the center of the path, to try to keep them both out of sight and out of harm. Now, he shuffles them around to get his arms free and does something behind their back, probably to deal with whoever came up from behind them, and he lets Frisk hide in his snowy, rapidly-wetting uniform. He and Frisk can pretend it’s snowmelt getting on his shoulder.

Frisk shelters in his arms and shakes. Tears come slowly and their sniffles are quiet, trying hard not to sob. It’s not their best moment. They almost lost him. Frisk is just glad he’s alive.

Papyrus would be furious—but not at them, they think. He’d be angry at Black Sans for not getting them somewhere safe and warm before their breakdown.

… _Fell_ Papyrus would. This Underground has a Papyrus. A different Papyrus.

“I’m going to pick you up now,” Black Sans says. He’s stopped moving his arms behind them.

Frisk puts their arms around his neck to help with picking-up and doesn’t say a word. Their SOUL turns blue and it aches fiercely, like Black Sans’s and Red Sans’s magic are fighting each other and ripping Frisk apart. Frisk thinks it’s probably just that everything hurts right now, but they imagine the two combatting magics tearing away at each other, taking pieces of Frisk’s SOUL with them. They don’t think Red Sans and Black Sans would get along.

Just in case, they huddle around their SOUL, hiding it with their body so no one can see it. This close, they have to be careful if they don’t want Black to know about the bone attack. Even if he probably definitely already knows about the bone attack. Maybe they can convince him it was a dream.

Without gravity on them, it’s easy for Black Sans to scoop them up—almost as easy as it was for Frisk to grab him and run. All he is is dust held together by fragile magic and precious hope. As strong and terrifying as he is, Sans is light as a feather and can be torn through just as quick.

They peek over his shoulder into the woods. Through the shadows, they’re not sure if they see anyone or not. They hope no one is there.

Suddenly uncomfortable, Frisk squirms out of Black Sans’s hold. Just in case. _Show no weakness_.

He doesn’t stop them, just sets them on the ground so they can get their feet under them before disappearing his magic and letting them hastily shove their SOUL back in their person, cradling it in their palms so he doesn’t get more than a glimpse. Frisk can see Slim here, too. He’s watching them with dark, serious eyes.

They don’t know what to do with this.

They follow their instincts to walk slowly to him and cling to him, too, even though they just made Black Sans put them down so he would have his hands free and they wouldn’t cling. They hold Slim tight for a little short while, still maybe shaking a bit. It’s just a moment. No one is looking for a moment, right?

Slim lets them wrap around him as much as they’re able, and brings one of his hands to the back of their neck. Frisk hates when people touch them there, but they don’t try to tell him that. They don’t want him to let go.

They take a deep, deep breath that shudders the whole way in. They hold it, just for a moment, absorbing comfort and gathering their strength. They can’t stop and rest yet. Soon, but not just yet.

Okay. They’re ready. Frisk sets their shoulders.

Slim begins to say something, but Frisk takes a step back first. They want to stay with him and guard him and protect him so much. If they don’t leave now, they never will, and he doesn’t love them yet. They’re not his family.

They have to be the one to walk away, or they’re not sure how they’ll survive it.

They keep their head up high like Fell Papyrus would want them to, and it takes everything in them. Everything they learned from Shy Sans and Underfell and themself props them up while their mind reels in exhaustion.

It’s not even DETERMINATION keeping them going anymore. It’s just, if they let their momentum stop, they don’t think they’ll ever get going again. They’ll drift right into a snowbank and never wake up.

To their right is Black Sans. To their left is Slim. Behind them is the path to Snowdin, and all around them is the forest they’ve found shelter in and the ruin of their FIGHT.

Frisk isn’t sure which direction they’re even supposed to go in. They manage a jerky nod to their—to the brothers.

Black Sans and Slim look at each other with a thousand words in their eyes.

“hi there, kid,” Slim says, taking one tiny step forward. His hands are spread open at his sides, obviously unarmed.

Frisk doesn’t know what he wants them to do. They try waving, but only get through half the gesture before they give up. They resist the urge to hunch over and hug themself. They’re being strong like Papyrus right now. Even if it feels hollow. They nod again.

“uh, looks like you had a bit of an adventure, huh? i’m sorry. i bet that was…scary.” Slim winces. He doesn’t seem to know where he’s going with this. Frisk definitely doesn’t.

Black Sans, watching with keen-but-tired eyes, apparently decides to be done with Slim and Frisk’s shenanigans. He cuts right through.

“Human. You are injured. You will be coming home with us,” he says.

Frisk turns to him and blinks. It’s hard to drag their eyes back open.

 _Huh_.

That’s not…

They shuffle a few things around in their mind.

Well, maybe…

Slim is probably one of their closest friends in this Underground, and Black Sans is his brother and close ally. Black Sans knows that.

That means the skeleton brothers are probably the nearest thing Frisk would have to loved ones by anyone’s measure—that, and Frisk loves them, and they haven’t exactly made that a secret. Even if they’re not family yet, Frisk loves them a lot.

Another thing: Frisk is hurt pretty badly right now. They didn’t get hit, they don’t think, but something _hurts_. It hurts like it’s never gonna get better—and will it ever get better? Their SOUL still hurts like they just left Underfell, their hand still cramps up where Shy Sans crushed their bones. Are they ever gonna get better, if they haven’t by now?

No matter the answer, Frisk is hurting badly. One moldsmal could kill them right now. Black Sans can probably tell. So he’s gonna bring them home with him, so they don’t die pointlessly out in the open.

Then, if Wonderfell is like home…probably one or the other of the brothers is going to kill them.

Chara, watching closely, recoils from the thought; but no, Frisk knows this one. It makes sense.

They’re hurt. Badly. They’ll be brought back home to be in a happy, familiar place surrounded by their favorite things. If their family can afford it, they’ll be given their favorite foods and surrounded by luxury. Someone will look them over and decide whether they’re likely to recover well and quickly enough to survive.

Given how Frisk feels right now, they’re basically free EXP. Trying to protect them would be more of a danger than an act of care—they’d be killed before they can recover anyway, and delaying their death would paint a target on their loved ones’ backs.

One of their closest allies will finish them quickly and ensure the EXP from the kill stays in the family. A monster’s stats almost always go up after killing a close friend. That way, Frisk can still protect them, even if they’re too hurt to do it any other way.

Probably the brothers will stay in for the next few days after that, and violently tear apart any interlopers in a period of what a human would call grief. A few brave SOULs may bring food or congratulatory gifts for the bereaved, and take their chances that they won’t be killed for their condolences. Frisk remembers Papyrus nearly losing an eye bringing in some food and supplies for the Drake family.

That’s how things work. If this world is supposed to make sense, and it’s like their home, then that’s how things are. It would be a gentle, easy death. That’s what love looks like, sometimes.

If this were Underfell, Frisk would have a choice to make, now—go with Black Sans and Slim and die in comfort and care, or stay out here and take their chances at being killed or starving or freezing while they can’t look after themself. They could always LOAD, but—the only time they can LOAD to is the last time they used their DETERMINATION, which was during the FIGHT with Gyftrot. They’d be left in the same situation.

They’d loop over a few hours or days of exhaustion and suffering, eventually RESET when they couldn’t find a way to survive it, and lose everything. Black Sans would hate them again, and Slim wouldn’t love them, and no one would know who they are.

…if this were Underfell.

(Then again, if this were Underfell, Papyrus would be here to protect them. He would never let them be killed, even if it would be stupid to keep them alive. He would bring them home and wrap them up in a blanket and coddle them until they felt better, like that time they got really sick and Sans made them soup and helped them eat it. Papyrus had to be persuaded four times a day to go to work, because he didn’t want to leave Frisk’s side while they were scared and vulnerable. He wanted to protect them. Papyrus wanted to keep them).

(And Frisk wanted to break the Barrier, and Red Sans wanted to kill them. Sometimes nobody gets what they want).

Then again, they don’t think that’s what’s going to happen here.

Besides Chara’s emphatic feelings that family means _not once not ever_ hurting each other, not for monsters, and maybe they think Black Sans is a jerk but what Frisk is thinking is _wrong_ —

It’s kind of a crazy feeling, but there’s something about Black Sans…the way he holds himself, maybe. Or his eyes. He’s standing upright with his typical crisp formality, but it’s shabby at the edges with exhaustion. He’s worn and broken down into someone that looks more like a sad, stressed person than a textbook.

That’s probably what says it, to Frisk.

He’s giving them a hint of weakness. It must be at least a little intentional, because Sans is very smart about these things, but he’s still letting them see him.

If he were going to kill them, he would be reassuring in their last minutes, Frisk thinks. He would be strong and resolute and heartless, to show them that he has what it takes to survive, that he won’t waste their death. He’d promise that no harm will come to him or Slim once they’re gone. But he’s not doing that now. He’s tried and Frisk is tired and they’re both going to go home.

Chara is right pretty often. Frisk should probably listen to them more. This Chara forgives them wordlessly, leaving them with the feeling like someone pressed up against their side and clasping their hand tightly. _Not alone_. _Go with him_.

It’s what they’ve wanted all along.

Frisk thinks about trying to say something. They don’t. They just sort of look at Sans and he just sort of looks at them.

They must pass some sort of muster, because Black Sans says, “Good. I’m glad we are in agreement. Brother?”

Slim, watching the encounter, gently herds Frisk a little closer to Black Sans, and they’re all pulled through a shortcut. Frisk lets it all go dark.

* * *

Frisk blearily drags themself to consciousness a few times. Odd things pass them by—a warm, soft bed that smells like fresh laundry and faintly like bones, a quiet conversation that dissolves into urgently whispered gossip, fingers gently running through their sweaty hair.

They’re pretty sure at least some of what they think they feel is a dream, because their hair is too tangled to run fingers through, even in the very neatest parts. They capture the imaginary wrist anyway, and push insistently when it hesitates. The petting starts again.

Other dreams are less pleasant. Gyftrot gushing blood instead of dust, which washes over them and leaves them sticky and shivering in the heat, fighting against restraining blankets. Black Sans looking down at the attack that’s sprouted from his chest even as he dissolves. Desperately forming dust back into the shape of a person, but he never comes back once he’s gone. Huge, skull-like monsters that watch and watch and watch, always with the same focused expression, with an alien intelligence, like they know something Frisk doesn’t. And through them all there’s another dream, the best and worst—

_“I didn’t want this,” Red Sans shouts, still and always waiting for them in the golden hall. A familiar nightmare that only ever gets worse. Sans only ever gets angrier._

_This time, he grabs them by the front of their shirt and shakes them hard enough to make them dizzy. “You’re the one who made me—just—you couldn’t goddamned cooperate, just once in your life? You couldn’t have come home? Just—damn it, kid, don’t—”_

And with a shift, it’s a different dream. Frisk is curled up with him on the hard, lumpy couch, with Mettaton playing in the background while Sans makes subtle, awkward rocking motions, bringing them back and forth.

“shut up,” he whispers, even though they haven’t said anything. “not a damned word.”

Frisk sniffles but stays quiet, and that’s when they realize they’re dreaming. This is a dream.

“you’re ok. you’re alive,” Red Sans says. “that’s what matters, ok? that’s all. you’re alive.”

Mettaton engages in culinary dissection on the TV. They’re at home. Sans makes quiet nonsense sounds and rocks Frisk back and forth, cradling them in warmth and comfort. Frisk hides their face.

They hurt somebody today.

They don’t want him to not recognize them. To say that part of them died today and they’re never, never gonna get it back.

They knew they’d have to hurt someone some day. Even Red Sans said so. Especially him. He won’t get mad at them. He can’t hate them more than he already does, right?

They didn’t even kill the Gyftrot, so there’s really nothing to freak out about. They’ve never been upset about it before, when their brothers gave them bone attacks and coached them through how to use one or another, told them that some day they would have to. They always knew it was gonna happen sooner or later. It’s just part of life. It’s good to get it out of the way while they’re young. They didn’t do anything wrong. They’re not upset. No one is upset. _They’re not upset_.

Sans makes a wordless crooning noise, tucking them in close and safe.

“it’s ok, kiddo. it’s ok to keep yourself alive. i’m so proud of you. you were so damn brave. you made the right choice.”

He would never really say any of these things.

“i’m right here. let it out. it’s ok, you’re safe now. you’re with me. boss is in the kitchen, cookin’ up something for you.”

He’s not. They would be able to hear him.

“got something good on tv.”

Sans has never called Mettaton or any monster ‘good.’

“you’re here. you’re home. it’s safe, frisk, it’s ok. i’ve got you. nobody’s gonna hurt you here. i have you.”

The most damning thing of all—Red Sans never knew their name.

Safe in the knowledge that this is a dream, Frisk sobs into Red Sans’s arms, hiccupping apologies and crying so loudly they’re almost screaming. They hold on to him so tight they would break his bones in real life. They thrash and shout and whimper and nearly climb into his ribcage, they’re so close, and the whole time, Sans is there, solid and safe and constant, and he forgives them. He says they’re gonna be okay. He still loves them. They were so brave and so strong and it’s over now, they’re safe, and they’re gonna be okay. No matter what they’ve done, it’s still them, Frisk.

Eventually, Frisk starts to believe it. Just in this dream, for now, their tears dry up and they’re left tired and wrung out but not hurting. The world is soft and warm and safe.

Frisk cuddles into Sans like a thousand times before.

It’s like he’s just shepherded them home from Hotland and zipped them into his jacket, so they can’t escape until they’ve slept and healed and eaten something. It could be any of those lazy afternoons that always seemed to creep up on them when they were wearing thin.

Frisk watches Mettaton explain the difference between the roles of a scalpel and a chainsaw in scientific experiments, or sometimes closes their eyes and snuggles into Sans’s jacket and listens to his magic hum. Dream-Frisk dozes, too, wandering through other dreams and always back to Sans. He doesn’t turn to dust and he doesn’t throw them away.

Sans pats their back gently and hums low and off-tune. Frisk is warm and nothing hurts.

* * *

Sans wakes up gasping from another nightmare. Sweat—it’s definitely sweat—has left tracks under his eyes, and his bones are rattling loud enough to wake the neighborhood.

He—that is, Sans—that is, Red, since that’s the only thing anybody will goddamned call him these days—he wasn’t sleeping deeply, curled in a heap at the foot of the bed. Of course he wasn’t. That would be suicide, with the front door unlocked and untrapped. Instead, he was dozing shallowly, with Papyrus’s door wide open so he can see right from the foot of the bed to the front door. So he’d wake up and know the instant someone decided to take advantage of the wide-open opportunity to kill him.

It’ll happen. It’s too obviously a trap right now, with all the obvious weaponry and hair triggers cleared away. Of course they’ll assume he’s watching, at first. But sooner or later, someone’s gonna be stupid enough to walk through that door and try to kill him, and Red will be right there waiting for them to prove he was right all along.

Monsters can’t change. Not a single goddamned one of them. They can talk all they want about playing nice and being fair and their LOVEless revolution—yeah, he was listening when Papyrus came up with that particular bit of suicidal idiocy—but as soon as they get an opportunity, as soon as anyone pisses them off, they’re going to go right back to what they always were.

The same monsters that took hours and hours playing around with their kills, until the poor bastard they caught gave up on screaming, looped back around to screaming again, and lost their voice completely—those monsters are running around preaching peace and redemption like they can forget what they are. What they did. What they _enjoyed doing_. Red can still hear them laughing every time he closes his eyes.

And now they want to ‘change.’ As if a few pretty words can _ever_ make up for the world they’ve made.

It’s disgusting. He knows now more than ever that his judgement was right. Monsterkind will _never_ deserve the Surface. They’ll never deserve anything but a swift execution.

And what’s hilarious is how they all hate him, now, for “killing” their precious Angel, for making a martyr when that was never what he wanted. Red’s a symbol for what they hate, when he’s the only one who hasn’t forgotten what lives inside of every monster. The cruelty. The screams and sobbing you could hear every night, if you went to the wrong corners. The numbers he sees every time he leaves the house, listing out each and every one of their sins.

His hands aren’t clean, but at least he’ll admit it. He knows what he is, and he can live with it. Everything he’s done, he’s done because he needed to, to survive and to keep his family alive. And he never would have had to if every last monster in his world didn’t delight in crushing every good thing.

Monsters love innocence. They love to see it screaming and sobbing on the floor. And now they want to claim it like it’s their right.

Hah.

They all condemn him right up until they walk through his hall and he brings them to their knees. He knows what they did. It’s all there in the numbers. He can’t escape it. And somehow, they have the nerve call _him_ the monster.

And if that’s funny, then Red doesn’t even have a _word_ for how great it is when they parade the human’s memory around like some grotesque banner. As if the kid proved something that they were waiting for all along. As if half of them hadn’t killed the kid for sport.

They set up little memorials and gather in silence and in community for the kid Red tried _so damned hard_ to protect, even when his friend behind the door begged him to kill the next human who came through, quick and easy before those same monsters could find them. She and Red both knew that death would be a mercy if they ever left the Ruins.

And Red still let them live, still guarded them like the most precious thing in his life, still promised when his own brother cornered him that he wouldn’t screw up this time. He’d do right by them. And they still died, again and again and again while he watched them get tired, scared, desperate. As every day became a reminder that DETERMINATION isn’t infinite, but the evil in monsters is.

Those same monsters talk about tragedy and glare at Red like he’s the problem. _Hilarious_.

And hell, the kid’s not even dead, but will anyone listen? No. They all believe in redemption for themselves, but they see no issue damning Red. Because Red is the one who lost everything to this world, again and again and again, and he won’t let them pretend to be innocent. Not one of them.

They _hate_ him for it. And they should, because he hates them right back. And that’s how he knows he’ll be the first person they come for when they fall back to what they really are.

Red could kill them for their hypocrisy.

But he won’t. Not yet. He’s gonna wait around, all harmless and everything, door wide open. And when one of them comes in to stab him in the back, he’ll scatter their dust in New Home for everyone to see. Look at how ‘peaceful’ they are. Look at how ‘good.’ They snuck into the home of a monster who hadn’t done shit to them and tried to kill him in his sleep, and they still dare to talk about change and redemption.

It’s going to happen. Red knows monsters. He knows not one of those bastards is ever gonna change. Once the fad passes, once they realize it’s not easy-breezy and fun to be a pacifist and survive, once they realize they’re too far gone in their LOVElust—Red will be waiting. And he’ll show everyone what being a monster really means.

…it’s just taking longer than he thought it would, is all.

It’s just that it’s been a while since Papyrus walked out the front door with all his shit in a bag and said “I can’t look at you right now.” Said some other things, too. Some things Red is starting to think his brother really believes.

Said maybe Red was right about LOVE—that it eats up the person who used to exist, breaks them apart from the inside until all that’s left is a morbid puppet that looks like them, no real love left inside. Said maybe that’s true, ‘cause when he looks at Red, all he sees is the LOVE that killed both of his siblings.

Heh. Red hadn’t even been able to laugh at that one, too busy gaping after Papyrus. He just couldn’t believe he’d really leave—they’re brothers, right? They can’t just split.

Red’s the one who gave everything to raise the ungrateful brat even when it was killing him inside. He stuck by Papyrus even when he was half-sane and Papyrus was half-feral. Because they’re brothers, and you don’t just get to abandon that when it’s inconvenient. Not even if it kills you. You don’t abandon family.

Papyrus could rip his spine out through his eye socket and Red would give him a second chance. He’d believe that there had to have been a good reason for Papyrus to do what he’d done, no matter how much it hurt at first, no matter how many people muttered that Papyrus should have died if there were any justice in the world. Red would have stuck it out by his brother’s side, no matter what.

Apparently when it comes down to it, Papyrus wouldn’t do the same for him.

He just thought his brother would come back by now. At least give him a second—at least to him try to explain.

Something in the back of his head hisses at the thought, as if it’s wrong somehow, but Red knows Papyrus would understand if he just tried to listen. If anyone would _listen_ to him, they’d see that he was right. He was just doing what was right. Monsters don’t deserve the Surface and they don’t deserve to walk over a broken little corpse to get to it. It’s Red’s place to judge them, and this is what they _deserve_ , if anyone would just take a moment to understand.

They never do. Not even his brother will…

That’s fine. He always knew doing the right thing would have a price.

He was never willing to pay it, before. He lived his whole life caught between what a better person would do and what he could stand. But now he’s made the choice. It’s done. It should be a relief.

If even Papyrus, who Red’s never raised a hand to hurt even when anyone else would have, who he’s loved more than anything for his whole damned life—if even Papyrus is willing to abandon his family, then the kid never would have been safe here, anyways. Red couldn’t save Papyrus and he sure as shit couldn’t have saved them. Not by keeping them.

So he had to do the right thing and break it off, give them away like he’s some desperate parent, too weak to kill their offspring and not strong enough to keep them.

He had to say whatever it took to make sure they didn’t dare to come back, because that sweet fucking kid would burn themself out trying to save this world. They would try to redeem it while it ate them alive. Unless Red made them let go, they’d hold on forever, and he’d walk into the throne room one day and find red smeared all over the flowers, because he couldn’t keep them away forever.

He had to take a chance and hope they were born under a better star in the next world over.

This is love. In his fucked-up hellhole of a world, this is what love is, and he will never forgive a single monster for making it that way.

Any single one of them could have changed before the human ever fell, could have made this revolution happen without resting on the shoulders of his littlest sibling, the only person in years who looked at him like there was something in him worth loving. Really, it was a mercy to toss the kid away before they had to see their friends fall back into the hellish dustbowl Red’s world will always be.

If they just took a second to think about it, they’d see that he was being kind. If they were here, they’d forgive him. It’s what they do. They understand. They forgive him. They must, right?

 _No_ , snarls a voice that sounds suspiciously young and furious and _human_ , but Red has gotten used to ignoring that. The flashes of their face looking stricken and betrayed get ignored, too.

He was _right_. He’s always been right. They’ll understand.

It is a shame how that other world’s Frisk had to die for his to survive, but that’s business. That DT had to come from somewhere—he wasn’t sending them off just to run out of DT at the eleventh hour and spin out of existence. And he sure as shit wasn’t going to toss them onto their own corpse, so yeah, he fiddled with things a bit, made it so they’d knock their counterpart out of existence. SOUL shatters and fades away, but the DETERMINATION lives on, free for the taking.

Nice and quick and easy and clean, and the kid’s got a nice dose of DT to cannibalize once no one else is using it. More DT means no chance of someone else controlling the timeline, so basically, his kid is gonna live forever. It’s a pretty great omelet, and he’s never even met the eggs.

That was the plan, anyway. Turns out the kid wasn’t fucking safe over there, either, so it’s an extra good thing he did that. Hopefully they’ve got enough DETERMINATION to spare that wherever they are, they can hold on there, just a little longer.

That much he didn’t lie about—he never meant for them to leave Blueberry-him’s upside down universe. When he sent them out, he focused on three things: he wanted them to find the other him and be loved and protected and get all those things that kids need that his world just doesn’t have, he wanted them to grow up strong and safe, and he wanted them as far from hell as possible. It doesn’t get farther than that candy-fluff world. That’s the complete opposite of his world. They should have stayed there.

He put more love into that trip than he thought he had in him. How the hell does _thrive, grow, go_ turn into _hey can the next sans over toss this kid into an interdimensional portal k thanks_? It just doesn’t make _sense_ , and he can’t find what he’s missing.

He finally did the right thing, and sure, he gets the satisfaction of knowing all the evil bastards around him will never see the sun, but he still doesn’t get what he wanted.

…he just needs to find them. He just needs to find them and everything will fall into place. They made Papyrus stop hating him after years and years; if he finds them now, things will get better. They’ll be alive and safe somewhere and he can explain everything and they’ll understand. Things will get better.

Just, in the meantime…just to see the progress on how soon his neighbors are going to stop fucking around and just be evil again, just as an info gathering thing…he’s gonna put his hood up and go to one of those memorials.

They’re not dead. And they didn’t care about politics, anyway, so the whole revolution thing has nothing to do with what they would have wanted, or their will or anything. Red doesn’t have to care about it. He’ll just go, and see that it’s stupid and hollow and meaningless, and maybe catch a glimpse of his brother, alive and well, and then he’ll get back to work.

Yeah. He won’t be out for too long—gotta get home before Blueberry calls, so they can swap science for a bit. After all, there’s no need to mourn if he’s going to find them.

* * *

Frisk hears knocking. Not knock-knock joke knocking. There’s a soft rapping at the front door, insistent but not loud.

“you can go back to sleep,” Red Sans says. “don’t worry about it.”

They’re tempted. It’s very warm, snuggled up under his jacket, and he’s surprisingly comfortable considering he’s all bones.

Frisk has been sleeping for a while, though, soaking up comfort and love like they’re starving for it. Their intermittent dreams have calmed to rainy nights—it’s been so long since they’ve seen rain—and dancing. They think they were just dreaming of playing hopscotch with Blue Sans, except he would draw elaborate islands for them to hop to, and they’d have to explore them together before they could jump to the next.

It’s very nice. They’re very happy. But they kinda wanna open the door.

“heh,” says Sans, fondly. “yeah, alright. go on, then. knock ‘em dead.”

Frisk baps him very gently on the hand, and follows the sound of knocking.

The feeling of warmth and overwhelming _home_ fade gently away, like they’re leaving a cloud or a comfortable fog, even though it’s only a few steps to the door. If they looked behind them, they’re sure the room would have gone away, Sans and all. They already feel more alert, the smear of dreams falling away.

Frisk opens the door. Chara nearly knocks their nose.

Still dreaming. Well, obviously, in retrospect. Frisk doesn’t have a house anymore.

“You should wake up,” Chara says.

Frisk blinks at them. Normally Chara is a little more circumspect than this. Well—Wonderland’s Chara wasn’t, towards the end, were they?

Chara flicks away the errant thoughts with a fluid motion. Frisk watches them go. Dreams are strange.

“Those skeletons of yours are getting worried. You should wake up,” Chara repeats. “You’ve rested for a long time.”

“Sans…” Frisk’s voice comes out saying the only thing they’ve said in what feels like a very long time. It surprises them to hear it.

“Yes. That one. And the other one. They’re your brothers, right?”

If anyone would understand, it would be Chara.

“Yes,” Frisk says, just because they can. It’s nice but also a little scary, hearing their voice after so long.

“Yeah,” Chara says. “Brothers, right? You shouldn’t keep them waiting. They fret.”

And Chara probably doesn’t like lying in bed, feverish and mostly asleep, with worried family standing over them. Frisk is a little warmed to know that Sans and Papyrus have stayed by them this whole time, however long it was.

“Thank you,” Frisk says, “for watching. I was…tired.”

“…yes.” Chara goes even a little pinker and looks away. “Well. It seems that…we are partners, of a sort. If only by circumstance. It is fitting that I look after things while you are unable to.”

Frisk brings them through the doorway and bundles them into a hug.

“Thank you,” they whisper again to Chara’s ear. “Thank you for taking care of me. We’ll take care of your family, too. I promise.”

Chara hesitates to believe it, Frisk can feel that in their body. Shy Sans was onto something with his nonverbal talking lessons. But they want, so desperately, to believe that their family can heal. Asgore’s insanity probably scared them a lot. They must be frightened to see what’s become of Toriel.

“Your skeletons first,” Chara says, finally. “You are still recovering. Live in a house with a roof for a while. And then…if we can…”

“We can,” promises Frisk. “Your mom loves you. She made choices that weren’t good because she was hurting when you died. She doesn’t want to hurt anyone else. She’s just scared. As soon as she has a choice, she’ll get better.”

Monsters have never wanted to hurt Frisk. They’ve never wanted to hurt each other. They’re made of love, and compassion, and hope. Despite everything…Frisk knows they can get better, if someone just gives them a chance.

(That belief has only failed them once before).

Black Sans will be different. This world will be different. This time they will break the Barrier, and they’ll free monsters, even if not all of them think they deserve to be free.

Later, though. In time. For now…Frisk has missed their brothers, their real-life awake brothers, and it’s time for them to wake up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "LOVEless revolution" = rution?
> 
> The side story [Glean](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28819443/chapters/70683312) takes place directly after this chapter. If you've been wondering what Shy Sans and Fell Papyrus are up to, wonder no longer!


	20. I Believe in Second Chances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frisk's recovery, from Black's POV. What is he thinking, now that so much has happened?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Black's POV was requested and also we really need to get a look into this guy's head, so: this chapter and next are both from him! Probably. Frisk's POV will also appear next chapter and may take over the whole thing. Also, I promise more from Slim next time, but Black is kinda stuck in his own head rn.
> 
> So I was all "This chapter is like super short, so I really need to update early, right? It's like 2000 words. That's nothing. I should put it out early." then I saw the chapter was actually 4900 words but like,, it's already here. just pretend it's sunday today ok?
> 
> **Briefing:**  
>  Orphanages don't exist in swapfell. All orphans are taken into temporary custody until the Royal Guard finds them an appropriate home. This process takes a maximum of 3 weeks, barring unusual cases.
> 
> The side story [Glean](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28819443/chapters/70683312) takes place between last chapter and this one! Go read that if you haven't yet.

The human, after their impressive display of mimicked magics, falls ill.

Perhaps this is to be expected of a creature closely connected to their physical body, who appears to use their own health to power their magical abilities. It could be that it is a natural and expected consequence of taking massive HP damage for a human to be sick for some period of time.

If this is true, then Sans owes them another apology for his attempts to kill them. He had intended to end their life swiftly and painlessly, not to inflict suffering and leave them to sweat and to shiver in the snow.

Or, perhaps it is the fate of humans who fall into the Underground to grow sickly and eventually die. Perhaps some atmospheric gas or mineral poisons them slowly, so that one way or another, they reach their inevitable fate. Perhaps in some unstudied weakness, humans need sunlight to live.

Most likely, the human’s choice to stand and FIGHT for Sans’s life is causing their suffering. However, this is mere speculation. The reason is ultimately less important than the truth of the situation: the human has fallen ill.

Technically, the fact that they’re sick _now_ could be a positive development according to the Plan—not one Sans had predicted originally, but one that could be to his ultimate benefit. The human may die from the backlash of their choice to save Sans’s life. If they do, they will be neatly in Sans’s home, conveniently close and secure. He can collect their SOUL without ever killing them. A tragic but unavoidable fate. A consequence to selflessness. It could be any of a number of fables told to children showcasing the nature of the world.

It could be an advantage for the lucky monster willing to profit from a child’s untimely death.

Sans has been known to fool himself, but he’s not fool enough to believe that this is what he wants. He would theoretically benefit from the human’s death under his care, but in reality, he can’t deny that the idea is revolting to him.

He does not _want_ harm to come to them. If they would just get better _now_ , they could survive through their whole human lifespan. They could live well and happily.

Most especially, they could survive for a long time as a powerful mage. The drawbacks of their magic are severe, but Sans and Papyrus could work with them. Alternate strategies could be developed. The human would be an asset as an adult, and be able to keep themself quite safe.

Sans would keep them safe, to the best of their comfort and his abilities.

They don’t _have_ to die. Nobody has to die. This is so rarely the case that Sans nearly doesn’t recognize it, but Papyrus is right. There is no necessary casualty. No one has to die.

And yet, for eleven days, Sans has to bear the possibility that the child might die regardless. They lie still but for nightmares that make them toss and turn, sweating in Sans’s sheets with fever and hardly absorbing any food when he puts it in their mouth. They whimper. Sometimes, it seems like they’re calling Sans’s name.

That is impossible, of course—the child would have no reason to call for _him_ when they are afraid. Papyrus, perhaps, as the monster they’re closest to. Or any human family they might have had. But not Sans.

It would not be unjustified for the human to hate Sans. This is a position that Sans is unfortunately familiar with. Though normally, people that he is duty-bound to harm do not tremble between life and death in his home afterwards. They do not suffer. Normally, Sans can make sure of that, at least.

He and Papyrus take shifts watching over the child while they recover. Papyrus insists that they _will_ recover, even when Sans can read his trepidation on his face. Papyrus is a blessing, once again, that Sans has done nothing to earn.

Through Papyrus’s informants and Sans’s daily interactions with the townspeople, the monsters of Snowdin are made aware that there is a child who is in critical condition due to neglect and endangerment. Accordingly, Sans and Papyrus are left mostly alone, lest the child die of their distraction and the Queen come down on all of their heads. Some monsters who would spit in Sans’s dust given the chance merely glance at him in passing, hesitating only long enough to see if there’s anything that he might need before slinking away. Good healing food is precious and rare, but Sans has his pick of Snowdin’s meager offerings, should he only ask for it.

He does not take advantage, of course. He would never. Those people need that food. Sans knows intimately how desperate that need is, and how desperate it will become if powerful royal guardsmen start shaking down the helpless locals for food and resources, knowing that any resistance will be met with a cruel death.

It does not happen in Snowdin. It is not allowed to. Sans would _never_.

Instead, Sans does what is necessary for his people’s comfort. He provides brief, bare descriptions of the child’s continued survival to anyone who dares to ask; Papyrus nudges the rumor mill, in order to alleviate anxiety. Sans spends much of his time at home, making a black sweater with purple stripes that is not filthy or in horrid repair. He uses his wide-toothed yarn comb to pick the very worst of the snarls out of the child’s knotted hair, and then eases it out of its smaller knots, a little at a time. He removes pine needles by the dozen from their person. In illness or in health, they will be comfortable.

Neatening the child to Sans’s standards takes time and effort, and distracts him from his scheming when Papyrus gets concerned about the disordered papers stacking ever higher on Sans’s Planning Board.

Multiple days are spent on the state of the human’s hair alone, but as suspected, there is no knot that cannot be undone by the full force of his concentration. Sans weaves individual strands of hair out of the tangle, and he manages the chaos with a minimum of snapping. The human still sheds a lot of hair, likely because it was all caught in tangles instead of falling out naturally, Papyrus says. His friend Undyne has hair, so Sans is inclined to believe him.

Papyrus comes back one day with a powder-based shampoo that can be worked into and washed off of fur to make it feel clean without the trappings and inconvenience of a shower, so Sans uses that, too. After that, a gently-applied washcloth with warm water helps brush away sweat and grime from their face and hands, once various debris have been removed. Those seem like relatively unobtrusive areas to clean, and the child is filthy. They cannot be comfortable with so many layers of grease and grime. Surely, if he can make them comfortable and clean, they will return to good health quickly.

He imagines that the human is content with his efforts. He has to change out his pillowcases again to get washing powder and fallen hair off of the bed, but when he judges his efforts to be sufficient, the child could be mistaken for clean. Perhaps even cared-for, if they would wake up and change into something well-made and warm. Sans is nearly finished with their sweater, and would like them to try it on so he can make alterations.

It is jarring to see someone in stripes so ragged. Child neglect simply doesn’t happen Underground. Even the most heartless killer knows that children are to be taken care of or brought to someone who will look after them. At least, those who are not fit to live in society know. Sans will say nothing of the Gyftrot, who is an outlier and hardly a worthy representative of monsterkind as a whole.

He is not certain that humans meet even the Gyftrot’s standards of child rearing. Clearly, whatever caretakers the child had previously were cowardly and inferior—at least any monster insane enough to kill a child would do it quickly, instead of leaving them to starve alone on a deadly mountain. Sans is suspicious of how reluctant the child was to seek help, as well. He is in no place to be casting stones, but he at least sent food to them by the proxy of his brother. He is offended to remember their neglected state, even when they first came to Snowdin—and it has only gotten worse.

Then again, humans do not have a matriarch willing to kill over the discomfort of children.

Perhaps they ought to. Sans does not agree with all or most or perhaps any of Queen Toriel’s decisions, but the bare minimum standard of guarding and nourishing the future of one’s species seems as if it should be universal.

That is neither here nor there. This particular human child is no longer affected by human law or society, and is not likely to see another human as long as they live. Their previous guardians are absent or dead. They have saved Sans’s life and are under his care, now, until they die or until the debt can be settled. This is necessary.

…this debt also provides a convenient reason for him to take them in and see to their care. Within his own mind. He will admit to no such weakness out loud.

He has been making them lunches every day, for Papyrus to bring to the woods. And he has obtained a bed for their use, as soon as he feels confident leaving them alone for long enough to pick it up. And he has enjoyed making them a sweater.

It is _possible_ that Sans may have some latent caretaking instincts, which are not appreciated when he directs them at Papyrus. Sans may enjoy spending time with children, knowing that they are safe, that they are protected as long as he keeps Snowdin properly corralled within law. So perhaps it is true that Sans sees to the human’s care with enthusiastic diligence.

It could be that he has had daring and risky dreams, in the past, of taking in one or two of the children that pass under his purview after the deaths of their previous guardians. Given the safety of children, and the lack of safety for their parents, the Underground has no shortage of orphans. Papyrus and himself included, once upon a time. Sans has a history of getting attached.

It has never come to fruition—not since ‘adopting’ Papyrus after Sans’s emancipation, which hardly counts. Papyrus was safer with him, at the time, and would have followed him regardless of what Sans had to say about it.

Nowadays, there are dangers to being taken in by Snowdin’s resident executioners, and the terrible thing about having a child is that one day they will grow up. They could grow to hate Sans, and betray him. They could be killed as a young adult under Sans’s protection, and Sans and Papyrus would both be executed for failing to keep them alive. Sans knows nothing about child-rearing, anyway.

The temporary comfort of having a loved one who is protected by law, who is _safe_ , means little in the face of inevitable time. Sans has never been able to justify the risks, not since he and Papyrus have reached where they are now. Too many enemies. Too much to lose. The children are better off elsewhere, and Sans would be no kind of guardian if he did not make that his first priority.

This particular child, though.

The human is a special case if ever there was one.

They simply have nowhere else to go, for one thing. They are a danger no matter how far away they are, and they are _in_ danger no matter how close. A human SOUL is an asset that could decide the fate and future of the world, and Sans cannot trust anyone else to guide them to love monsterkind as it could be, rather than hating what it is. Sans and Papyrus have the time and resources to devote to expanding their family. Sans owes them his life.

Sans wants to have the chance to give them a better life. To pretend he can make up for what he did, or at least to counterbalance the evil he has wrought on them.

Sans knew he would be changed forever if he had to raise his hand to kill an innocent child. He knew it the first time he attacked them, and every moment afterward. He has done one thing that he swore, to himself, to Papyrus, by the Angel and any star, that he would never do.

Even now, if he is not the direct cause of their death, he has led them to this point. They have followed him. If he had not attacked them and worn them down with traps and endless hunting—if he had allowed them to flee his presence without the pretense of a FIGHT—if he had had any common sense in where he was instigating combat—none of this had to happen. Perhaps, if he had had any sense of mercy before Papyrus sat him down and forced him to come to his senses, the human wouldn’t have even been in the woods. They could be settled down with a good family, a safe family, by now.

There are so many things that Sans could have done _right_. There are so many things that he chose, willingly, to do _wrong_. All because he wanted to keep a promise. Because he convinced himself that he had to. Because he was foolish and shortsighted.

Because he convinced himself to stray from his convictions, _just this once_ , when he knows full well that _just once_ is all it takes.

Sans has killed a lot of people. He has done horrible things. He has had to. But not ever—not _ever_ —has he hunted a terrified child. Not _ever_ has his victim spared him with steadfast faith as he cut them down. _Never_ have they saved his life after knowing him as an enemy. Those are things only Papyrus would ever do for him.

Thrice over, the human has been someone that Sans should never have harmed.

He may be a monster by any standard, but Sans is not evil. He is not cruel for cruelty’s sake. He is—he has to be—living proof that every person can choose to be good. Even the most heartless killer can change, if he only has the chance. Even he can be greater than his worst sins.

If the human dies now, he thinks it would be the death of everything he is. There are nights that Sans spends by their bedside, awake and afraid. There are more nights like that than he would prefer. Selfishly, painfully, he doesn’t want to be a child-killer.

There are so many reasons for Sans and Papyrus to keep the child. There are so many reasons the child doesn’t have to die. Of course Sans is attentive to their recovery.

And as he cares for them, he finds it easier than he had feared. Vague memories come back to him, of hot fevers and faltering magic when he was young and sickly. It feels good to do something kind for someone. It feels good to be helping. And Sans, as a skeleton of good standing, is determined to _master_ the art of helping.

Smoothing down their hair and tucking them in blankets is merely due diligence in the face of this fact. Teaching himself how to make soup broth from scratch instead of with stock is merely a reflection of Sans’s dedication to excellence in all of his endeavors. Making a new sweater for the child is a matter of protecting his reputation—no child in his household is going to look half-feral and hurt. They will look healthy and cared for and they will _be_ healthy and cared for, so help him, because Sans will not allow for any other option. This child will have _everything they need_. This is a _perfectly reasonable attitude_.

To say that he is ‘clucking like a first-time brood mother with a cracked egg’ would be inaccurate and patently ridiculous. Sans is an honorable and respectable skeleton of great composure and sturdy self-collection. He is no kind of hen or tentacle monster and he certainly does not _cluck_ like one.

A truer motion would be that, through their shows of cleverness and dedication, the human has impressed him, and he would appreciate seeing that strength fostered. His behavior is totally appropriate on this basis. It is a matter of _respect_. Something some people know nothing about.

Papyrus’s smug laughter is totally uncalled for. As if Papyrus isn’t the one who brought up keeping them in the first place.

Aside from all of Sans’s moralisms and justifications—or perhaps because of them—on the first full day of the human’s illness, Papyrus very quietly asked Sans to sit with him in front of the Crisis Planning Board. He carefully rearranged Sans’s pins and points (which he is not supposed to do, because he tangles the yarn every single time, without fail, but somehow he always gets Sans to let him mess with it anyway), until they clearly stated that the child needed a permanent home with people who were trustworthy, discreet, reliable, and capable of fostering magical talent. He’d arranged a whole slew of points and arguments that ruled out every other possible option. And then he’d asked directly, would-be casually, if Sans wanted to keep the child.

Sans had agreed, of course. For the reasons presented to him, and the careful argument arranged, and also because he was arranging a similar argument to present to Papyrus at the time. It seems that his brother, as always, is one step ahead of him, looking back and guiding Sans down the path that is least painful, forgiving him for the other paths he’s tried instead. There are not words for how much Sans loves his brother.

There is relief in Papyrus’s expression, ever since then, that tells Sans that his brother is glad to see the human taken in somewhere safe. Any hypothetical soft feelings that Sans has are totally mirrored in Papyrus. The human’s care is just due diligence in making his brother happy.

Sans’s thoughts are confirmed when he walks into his bedroom on the fourth day of the human’s illness. There, he discovers Papyrus half-dozing and petting the human’s neatened hair, his wrist captured in their sleep-soft grasp, and he is certain that his brother _is_ happy. Surrounded by soft coziness and content with his life as Sans brushes off the last of the cold and the dust of a day’s work, Papyrus looks like he could belong to another world. One that Sans desperately wants to join him in.

The importance of all strategy pales in the face of the lightning strike of affection that seizes him in that moment. Screw life and debts and promises; they’re keeping the child. If some toxin of the Underground’s environment is harming them, Sans will overcome that, too. Anything that makes Papyrus that happy can’t be bad.

And so it is, for a week and a half. Sans and Papyrus care for the child. The child sleeps.

It becomes…concerning, when they don’t wake up for so long. Papyrus is concerned. Sans knows, of course, that the child is too DETERMINED to live for anything truly bad to happen, so he’s not concerned. He puts his energy into constructively ensuring their comfort. He has created Optimal Healing Conditions. Everything will be fine.

Therefore, Sans feels not a hint of surprise when, one morning, they blink awake quite suddenly and sit up all at once. After eleven days of restless sleep, they seem ready to resume moving as if they’d never fallen.

Sans is sitting in the armchair that has been dragged to their bedside. The child looks at him with eyes that know too much, already alert and cognizant, and seems to consider.

Their gaze flickers over to Papyrus, who happened to be speaking about how difficult they’d been for Sans to kill and how he is certain they are strong and there is nothing to fear. He was doing this for reasons that are his own and have nothing to do with any anxiety Sans didn’t feel. He stops as the human wakes, with a quiet “phew” of relief that Sans graciously does not comment on.

The child blinks slowly at the two of them, and seems to come to some sort of settlement within themself. Alertness falls into a sort of rested peace, and they relax back into the pillow nest that has accumulated around them over the past eleven days. They smile and wave at Papyrus, and then, surprisingly, at Sans. Their greetings seem equally warm to each brother.

Well. Of course they would wish to greet Sans in a friendly manner. He did welcome them into his home and care for them. After those times when he stabbed them. And they clearly respect his opinion, of course.

What other reason would they need, to beam at him like there’s nothing they’d like more than to see him every day? Their apparent comfort in his home is just a result of their…questionable standards for friendship.

And by questionable standards, he means superior taste.

Sans should encourage warm acceptance this by acting in a friendly manner unassociated with threats. Which he will do, because he is excellent at making friendships, and also at convincing people to feel comfortable and safe with him.

It’s just that he’s never done it sincerely before. He isn’t quite sure how to, when there is no motive, no agenda to pursue. The idea of honesty seems inadequate and unconvincing, given their history. What reason to they have not to hate him? Why should they believe him?

Papyrus has always trusted him out of hand, because Sans would shred his own femur with a cheese grater before allowing harm to come to his brother. Even when he has failed, repeatedly and with varying amounts of stupidity, to keep their little family safe, Papyrus has trusted him.

Sans has never stupidly chased Papyrus straight into the Gyftrot’s territory in a situation in which they are both exhausted, forcing him to enact genuine harm onto another monster in Sans’s defense when all evidence says that he has never truly had to FIGHT before.

…Sans is reminded once more that he has also maimed this child, putting them inches from death until it was sheer stubbornness that saved them. Perhaps he put them into a similar period of terrifying unconsciousness; he doesn’t know, because he also terrorized them into hiding in the lawless wastes that even he dares not travel. He has caused them deadly harm and near-deadly harm and washed their hair and given them quasi-anonymous sandwiches. They nearly killed someone in his defense. And they are now in his bed in his home and smiling at him like an old friend. Or a new friend, perhaps, that they are very eager to see.

Sans is concerned for their mental state.

But his concerns will have to wait until they are recovered and better able to assess their feelings, so for now, he will accept their positive intent. He has behaved as impeccably as possible _since_ trying to kill them for no crime of their own, or at least in between that and the Gyftrot, so obviously his respect for them is mutual.

Perhaps they have heard of his great many accomplishments from those residents of Snowdin who do not hate him personally. Or, perhaps they can sense somehow that he is not normally the child-maiming type, and they have conveniently forgotten how Sans’s carelessness nearly got them both killed.

Regardless of the reasons, the child looks entirely content with the world from their position in Sans’s bed. They’re ready to take on anything. Not that Sans had worried about that, so much. They’re very DETERMINED. That was expected. They are also painfully fond, which makes sense. Somehow. If Sans could just make sense of it.

Yes. Of course. This is no more flustering than when Papyrus makes a similar expression, like the world must be at peace if he’s waking up and Sans is there. The fact that they are continuing to just…stare at him…with unconquerable affection…is entirely to be expected. As the charming skeleton he is, Sans will of course react in a way that is perfectly suited to this situation morally, emotionally, and socially. He will think of a way to do this. Something will come to him. Soon. Certainly.

He was prepared for hostility. Hostility would make sense. Of course the human isn’t going to make sense.

The child chooses, while Sans is thinking, to luxuriate in the moment like a cat on a warm rock. Their expression makes it quite clear that they are content to soak up the comfort and safety of being in a warm bed while expressing absolute bliss indefinitely.

Sans is so unperturbed by this entire situation that he suddenly remembers that the human needs to eat, and as a superb host, he will need to supply them with acceptable nutrition as quickly as possible. They’re not well. They need food. Sans has soup in the hot fridge. Yes. Good. Soup.

Not long ago, he had made many, many plans concerning the human, their SOUL, and their interactions with himself and Papyrus.

Somehow, he did not think to plan exactly what he would say to them once they woke up, if it were not to immediately defuse a crisis. He did try to kill them, violently and aggressively, for no reason known to them. They should be upset about that. His actions were unforgivable.

And then they played ‘tag’ with him, and also saved his life.

Sans does not have a script for this situation. An egregious oversight on his part, really—he has no one to blame but himself. He improvises.

“Human. Welcome to my home. Surely you are impressed by its great many charms.” Sans was suddenly motivated to clean it a week ago, which made it acceptable for human habitation. Papyrus also cleaned it, which some would say is what made it healthy and safe for human habitation. “While you reacquaint yourself with consciousness, I will be preparing breakfast as a decent host should. Please do not get into any life-threatening encounters in my bedroom.”

They can’t actually get into life-threatening danger in the most fortified room in the house, can they? No. That’s ridiculous. He can’t let an actual child throw him off his game like this in his own home. Sans is better than this. And feels no anxiety or dread, either left over from their long illness or renewed by his sudden inability to make friendly gestures in a meaningful and sincere way.

This meeting is important. Sans is making an ass of himself in front of a bedridden child.

Sans exchanges a glance with Papyrus. Papyrus looks as unconcerned and tolerant as he did as a teenager, insisting that this or that was just a ding on his HP or a tear in his sleeve and Sans didn’t need to panic about it, but knowing he would anyway. He is heavily implying by use of twinkling eye sockets that Sans’s panic makes him feel very cool and put together in comparison, and also that Sans is being a little bit ridiculous, even by Papyrus’s standards. _dude, put away the bubble wrap and the bone attacks, i’m fine_ , says Papyrus’s face.

There is no call for that kind of expression. Sans trusts Papyrus to take care of himself; it’s the human who seems to have no sense of self-preservation.

…Sans doesn’t even own bubble wrap. That the human is wrapped in piles of blankets, the closest equivalent he _does_ own, means nothing in particular and no conclusions should be drawn from it.

It is also the human that reaches out, slowly enough to be polite but far closer than Sans would allow an adult to get, and pats him on the cheek. They are buried in too many pillows and blankets to reach him easily. They’re still smiling.

“Yes. Well. I will be nearby. You will tell my brother if you have need of anything.” That sounds very cold. It seems suddenly important to say something kind to counteract that.

Sans pats the human’s hand back before he returns it to them, comfortably tucked with their other one on top of the covers. “I am…heartened to see you conscious.”

This is so much easier when he’s speaking to Papyrus. Incidentally, Papyrus is laughing at him. Silently. Sans narrows his eyes in a look that promises retribution, and Papyrus is as impressed as ever by his threats—that is to say, he is completely unfazed.

The human might also be giggling. It is hard to tell for sure, because they are making a polite effort to smother it in their palm.

Outnumbered and ambushed, Sans opts for a strategic retreat.

Second chances. He will do better next time. There will be food and Sans will try again. And again. And again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you missed it, now is a good time in the fic to read the side story [Glean](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28819443/chapters/70683312).
> 
> While I'm linking around, has anyone read [this fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10372296/chapters/22912863) and cried? I did. I don't read a lot of genocide run stories, but this is a geno run through ghost!papyrus's eyes as he follows his brother around, and I enjoyed feeling absolute heartbreak interspersed with moments of hope and love as I read it. Maybe I'm just a sucker for siblings, but. In case that link is broken: any angst lovers out there should totally read "I'm Here" by OtterlyDeerlightful. Cry with me. The characterizations are excellent.
> 
> In any case: thanks for reading! I will see you in 2 weeks on Sunday, as usual.


	21. Good Morning, Sunshine!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frisk has a shower and a change of clothes. That's pretty much all that happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is pretty fluffy :) we needed a nice sweet chapter. Tbh this whole arc is pretty fluffy.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter :) I sure did! And Frisk hasn't had a shower and a change of clothes since,, DanceTale probably? It needed to happen. Desperately.

It’s not long after waking up, basking in the comfort of just hanging out with Slim and hearing Black Sans bustle around downstairs, that Frisk notices the clump of bangs that keeps getting in their face.

It’s kind of strange. Mostly their bangs have tangled in themselves and Frisk hasn’t had to worry about them in weeks, but out of the corner of their eye it’s like a long, scraggly paintbrush is there. It all seems to stick in a clump, and now that it’s quiet, that oddity is enough to stick in Frisk’s mind.

They raise a hand to touch it. Their hair feels…really nice?

Slim watches idly, sitting in the corner of the room with a notebook on his knee, as Frisk investigates.

When they reach up, they can feel something caught in their hair that’s definitely not hair, but it’s not sticky like sap, either. It’s smooth and feels nice on their fingertips, with a rougher, more plastic(?) edge that they find hanging down. Whatever it is, there seems to be a whole nest of it up near their temple on the right side. But the rest of their hair feels…lighter?

Cleaner, they decide. They hadn’t realized how bad it felt to have greasy hair knotted up on their scalp, but it’s so nice to reach up and run the strands through their fingers, and turn their head without feeling one knot tug on all sorts of hanks of messed-up hair. They can’t feel any pine needles in there at all. This is an unbelievable luxury. Frisk tilts their head and shakes it back and forth a few times to feel how loose and free it is.

It’s all super nice, but one clump is still stuck together by the thing in their hair. Frisk tries to comb it out with their fingers and gets caught on a loop of some sort.

Slim shifts in his seat. “yeah, uh, sans said you had this ribbon you got from the gyftrot…?”

The ribbon!

Before Slim can even finish his sentence, Frisk is tugging on the ribbon, untying it from its clumsy bow around their bangs and watching it waterfall down in front of them, landing innocently in their lap.

There it is. Their pretty, blue ribbon with the melted, burnt end, that they got from Shy Sans’s world, that they got back from the Gyftrot when it almost killed Black Sans.

A sound wells up deep in their chest as they clutch it to them, touching the weave of it, the ends, rubbing their face over it just for the joy of having it back. They have it, it’s with them now, they got it back. Frisk’s cheeks hurt with how hard they’re smiling all of a sudden, but it’s too good, too relieving to be holding it again, to be embarrassed about it. They have it. They have their ribbon! It’s right here.

“uh. guess you’re happy about that, then,” Slim says. Frisk nods frantically, unable to tear their attention away from their precious ribbon. “sans figured it’s probably for hair, but we couldn’t, uh, really figure out how to put it in, so…”

Frisk gives him a thumbs up, feeling at the weave of the ribbon with the fingers of their other hand. It seems like it was put in like a weird asymmetrical bangs ponytail, and that’s sorta close to how hair ribbons work. Close enough, anyhow.

“speaking of, actually—no offense, dude, but you need a shower.” Slim closes his notebook and creaks to his feet. “uh, i think sans can put your bow back in how it was after, if you need help with that? he’s better at that stuff than me. think i’d end up pinching your hair in my joints.”

Frisk stopped listening after “shower.” They’ve begun the long journey of wrestling their way out of blanket jail for sick humans, where they’ve apparently made their home while they were asleep.

Blanket jail is thorough in its tucked-in defenses. In any world, ever, this is probably the most captured Frisk has ever been (at least, any world but Underfell).

It’s surprisingly hard to escape drowning in what might very well be every pillow in the Underground, wrapped up in tight layers of blanket that have been packed into layers of sediment around them. Frisk’s arms are already free, giving them an advantage, but the corsetry of blankets is giving them some trouble with the rest of their body.

“oh, uh, lemme help you with that,” Slim says, stretching out to reach over miles of human-blanket warfare.

With no apparent difficulty, he gets them under their arms, turns their SOUL blue, and yoinks them out of the pit. Frisk just has to go limp like a scruffed kitten and accept rescue. Years of struggle evaded, he lets their SOUL fade back into them and sets them lightly on their feet.

As he cautiously retreats his hands, Frisk tests out the idea of ‘standing.’ It feels like forever since they’ve been on their feet—it feels fantastic. They want to _run_. They want to jump around and climb a tree. They want to get into a play-battle and tumble around just for fun—they want to _dance_. Frisk has never appreciated not being sick like they do right now.

Restraining themself a little bit, to be polite, they bounce on the balls of their feet instead. Freedom is sweet. Freedom is realizing that they could really use a shower, and are also able to do something about that.

They grab Slim’s hand and run down the hall, opening the door to the bathroom. They point at a towel to demand their own.

A _shower_. Frisk has never really liked showers, but with the layers of sweat, blood, and muck built up on them, it sounds like a miracle.

“oh, uh, towels are down the hall—let me just go, uh…”

The stairs creak as Black Sans comes up to see what the fuss is about. Frisk peeks past Slim and down the hall in time to see him just as he rounds the stairs and sees them.

His gloved hands curve around nothing in the same kind of fretting grasping gesture Blue Sans would make when they escaped him. Black Sans immediately lowers them again and stands ramrod-straight.

“Human! You are out of bed! Congratulations on such a bold step forward,” he says.

His fingertips are still twitching a tiny bit—Frisk wouldn’t know if they weren’t looking, but he’s leaned forward like he wants to scoop them up and put them away. Black Sans is very fretful, as Sans goes.

To his credit, Black Sans gets halfway down the hall and doesn’t make any move closer, hovering at about the distance Frisk would keep with Blue Sans. Too far to lunge and grab, and a little farther after that, just in case. He doesn’t seem to realize that Frisk kind of wants to hug him until his ribs creak and then check him over to make sure he’s really alright. And then maybe feed him something with a good HP bonus. Just in case.

Monsters are so, so delicate. Sans is so, so precious to them. They’re so happy he’s okay.

“However. Are you certain you should be walking around? You were only recently very unconscious,” Black Sans continues, looking them up and down for injury or dismemberment as they do the same to him.

He notices the ribbon. They’re holding it with both hands now that they’ve let go of Slim, petting it a bit with their fingertips to feel its reassuring texture.

“Ah,” he says after a moment. “Was the ribbon placement incorrect? I am educated on a broad variety of subjects, but it seems human textile rituals is not one of them.”

Frisk shakes their head and grins at him to show that everything is good. Everything is _great_. Frisk is happier than they’ve been in a long time.

“nah, they said it’s fine,” Slim interprets. “you can put it back in in a bit. kid wanted to clean up some. i was just about to get them a towel.”

Black Sans nods approvingly. “An excellent plan, brother.” Pride settles easily on him, content with a world where Papyrus is clever and sensible. Frisk agrees.

Then, he turns to Frisk. “Human—as we did not have your measurements or your style preferences noted, we have not secured a wardrobe for you. Do you have outfits other than this one? Preferably…cleaner ones.”

Frisk looks back at him, trying to decide if they’re too happy to be unimpressed with him or not. Black Sans is unique and special, but he’s also Sans. Frisk does not accept accusations of slobbery from any Sans.

They also don’t have any other clothes with them. They have a spare t-shirt tucked away somewhere in their cave, they think, and that jean jacket Slim gave them, but nothing in their inventory right now. They didn’t really plan on coming home with their brothers when they left the cave…what, yesterday morning? How long have they been asleep?

Black Sans hums disapprovingly. Frisk still is not accepting criticism from him. They decide they will allow Slim some leeway, though, since he did at least try to give them some clothing-type items.

“Well, in the meantime, you may borrow some civilian clothes from me. They will not be a good fit, but as long as you are wearing stripes over them, they will do for now.” Black Sans pivots to walk at a perfect march into his room. He seems not to notice how Frisk shifts as he gets closer. “I will search for something for you to wear, and place it outside of the door. Come downstairs once you are adequately clean and I will assist you with your ribbon placement. There will be food.”

That said, he disappears into his room, presumably to dig through clothes.

Now that they think about it, this may be the first time Frisk has seen Black Sans out of armor. It makes sense that he might not always wear it at home, they guess…Fell Papyrus always wore his, but maybe in Wonderfell, attacking people in their homes is illegal, or something. Right now, Black Sans is just wearing tight pants and a close-fitting shirt that could go under his uniform without any trouble.

“he’s pretty cool, huh?” Slim asks, smiling and nodding after his brother.

Frisk nods emphatically. Black Sans is like a Sans-sized whirlwind, but with only a little bit of property damage. If Shy Sans taught him how to dance, they bet he’d be incredible at it.

“anywho, i’ll grab that towel and show you how to work the shower. uh, i dunno if it gets hot at all. i think we can get steam out of it?” Slim seems to ponder for a moment before he shrugs.

Frisk watches him shuffle down the hall in search of a towel, wondering how he could possibly not know if his shower gets hot or not. Fell Papyrus always insisted that hotter water meant more cleanliness, which Frisk kind of assumed was a general Papyrus opinion.

Once they learn how to work it (and realize that Slim is the kind of crazy that takes frigid showers all the time), and Slim and Black Sans retreat elsewhere, the shower is _perfect_.

It stings on cuts they don’t remember getting, and they find bruises mostly by realizing this or that patch of dirt isn’t scrubbing off and hurts to touch, but it’s warm and the water eventually comes away without looking brackish and gross.

There are three bottles of shampoo, a hair mask, some sort of oil, and conditioner, all of which Frisk has to read the instructions on to make sure they’re actually for hair and not bones. On review, one of the shampoo-looking objects turns out to be hair gel, which Frisk sets outside the shower with a couple of the other bottles to keep it from getting any wetter. They can only handle so many hair products at a time.

They know that in Underfell, their brothers had shampoo for times when Undyne stayed over…maybe Undyne stays over a lot more in this world? Frisk chalks it up to weird world differences, for a lack of any other explanation.

Once Frisk decides they’re ready and their hair is silkier and softer than it’s ever been, they’re pretty sure it’s been like an hour. Maybe more. But they feel squeaky-clean and light and ready to take on the world, so it was definitely worth it. They crack open the door to snatch up the pile of clothes Black Sans left for them.

Huh.

Once they bring it inside, they see that the pile is all resting on a thick, cozy-looking knit sweater, made with purple stripes on it. It looks a lot like their sweater in its design, but missing the knots and lumps and patches of darning that Blue Sans helped them do. It must be something Black Sans or maybe Slim has kept from childhood, but it looks like it could be fresh off the shelf.

Frisk sets it aside for the moment and gets the rest of their clothes. Black Sans’s clothes fit them well enough—they’re not falling off, which is pretty much Frisk’s standard for fit. They’re pretty nondescript altogether, black and made to last more than anything else. If Black Sans doesn’t seem like he’d be upset over it, Frisk might try to write him a note and ask if they can keep the outfit if they give him some gold or do him a favor or something. Even these utilitarian clothes are a breath of fresh air after Frisk’s old outfit.

Well. They’re decent now, so if someone’s FIGHT gets out of hand and the wall breaks in, it won’t get awkward. Now they just need stripes.

Frisk looks at the shiny new sweater.

It looks warm. Frisk has been at least a little chilly for…a while, now. Their sweater has tried its best to protect them from the cold and the sting of the snow, but it’s falling apart at the seams. This new sweater wouldn’t help much more if they’re to be spending days and then weeks outside, but when they first leave the house, it’ll be good to stay warm for as long as they can. Wearing something brand new would be nice and it looks comfy.

But the sweater they reach for is still their old, ratty sweater.

It really is falling apart. They aren’t sure they can wash it—there isn’t enough solid fabric to hold it together. The red stripes are dark and stained, and parts of the black are matted down or sticky. It passed its last legs a long time ago; it was ratty even when they were in Underfell, if they’re to be honest. Allowing them to keep it without comment has probably been an act of kindness or pity on the part of each monster they’ve encountered since.

Frisk looks close at the seams and hems, smoothing them out to see into each little fold. Up close, it’s still grayish from ambient dust sticking to the fabric and getting worked in.

Frisk bolsters a little, reassured. The dust-stain is still there. It holds to the fabric stubbornly, subtle but impossible to wash out no matter what they might do. Frisk would think it was just more grit if it weren’t part of everyone’s clothes in Underfell.

Every breath they took had a little bit of dust in it. Every still surface accumulated a thin film. Their sweater didn’t absorb any at first, but soon after falling, they were shrouded in the dust of the Underground. Just like their brothers and their friends.

Even though Frisk isn’t a monster, they lived there, too. The Underground took them in and gave them a mantle of dust, because they belong to it. It belonged to them.

That dust was people, once. Some of them were friends; others died years and years before Frisk was ever born. They all get worked into the dusty background of life. Everyone who was ever part of the Underground stays there, in that way, united after death. That dust is part of the Underground’s ambient magic that almost has a will of its own, fueled by thousands of monsters who lived and died.

It’s probably that magic that’s kept their sweater from giving up the ghost after the many abuses it’s gone through with them. It’s armor with a thousand lives woven into it. Not a single thing from their world gives up easy.

Frisk has been carrying that dust—dust from their home, not any place since—with them, wearing it on their person where anyone can see. They came _from somewhere_. They came from a bowl of dust, but it was a bowl of dust that loved them, that still clings to them. They love it back. It was hard and the people in it were different, but they’re not ashamed of their home.

They can’t give up their sweater. No matter what, they can’t.

Frisk is holding their sweater up by its shoulders, with the new sweater draped on the sink next to them, when two sharp knocks startle them almost out of their skin. They jump a foot in the air and clutch their sweater to their chest, alarmed.

Someone clears his throat outside.

“Ah-hem,” Black Sans says. “While I appreciate your devotion to cleanliness, please let me know if you’ve drowned in the shower. It has been seventy-two minutes, which is an appropriate amount of time to draw concern.”

Oh. Right. Frisk has been occupying their brothers’ bathroom for…a while now. What if one of them needed to grab bone cologne for a dating emergency?

Since they’re clothed besides their stripes, and mostly since they can’t exactly do charades through the door, Frisk opens it instead to let Black Sans into the bathroom. His fist is raised to knock again, and he blinks at them.

“Ah. You are alive and well,” he informs them. Then he seems to notice the sweater in their hands. “Your old clothes…do you need somewhere to dispose of them?”

Frisk frowns sharply at him, half-turning and cuddling their sweater away from him as they shake their head emphatically. They don’t quite turn enough to give him their back, but he seems to get the message.

“Is something unsatisfactory about the fit of the stripes I have provided for you? I am aware that it likely needs alterations, but it should be close enough in size and shape to be wearable in the meantime,” he says. He looks past them at the sweater draped on the sink.

Frisk shrugs and cradles their sweater, showing it to Sans a little now that it seems like he’s not gonna try to take it away from them. He flicks his strange purple eyes down towards it, and then at them.

“You prefer your current…garment,” Black Sans says neutrally. His face is less neutral. He seems unhappy with this.

Frisk pulls a face, because they don’t want to spit on his nice gift to them, they really don’t! He’s being so nice to them. He let them stay with him and recover and hasn’t even tried to kill them, unless he was planning to poison them and is getting impatient with how they aren’t eating yet. But probably he’s not going to kill them! He even took them home safe after the Gyftrot FIGHT! That’s so much generosity that Frisk can’t even start to understand it yet.

They really don’t want him to take it all back…or even just to take the purple-striped sweater back. It looks like a good sweater, really cozy and thick and perfect for Snowdin. Probably because it was designed with bones in mind, and those chip really easily if they aren’t protected by something squishy or some very tough armor. But bones or no bones, it would really help Frisk to have something warm.

Very cautiously, Frisk steps back and gestures Black Sans to follow them. They pick up the purple sweater, too.

Black Sans sets his face like he’s thinking, following them with two precise paces and watching neutrally.

Frisk cuddles the purple sweater to them and smiles to show they like it. It’s very soft and they do like it, a lot. Then, watching to make sure he understands, they show him their sweater.

They’re not sure how to make him understand that his gift is nice, but their sweater is _theirs_.

“Perhaps there is something about your current clothing that is preferable to the new piece?” Black Sans guesses.

That’s close. It’s…

Well, if anyone outside of Underfell will understand, it’s got to be someone from this world, right? Surely, given the option, Black Sans wouldn’t give up his fancy uniform, even if it started looking less fancy. Because of what’s in it.

Frisk looks closely at Black Sans’s clothes. It’s hard to tell background dust from general grit, but they’re sure they’ve seen it on Slim before.

Thinking hard, Frisk carefully smooths out the back shoulder seam of their sweater and shows it to Black Sans. It has a gray imprint of dust that only really shows up if they stretch out the fabric, but it’s more stark than any of the other dust. They haven’t really shown it to anybody before, though. Most worlds wouldn’t understand why Frisk wants to be covered in monster dust. It would scare them.

Black Sans leans in to observe, and Frisk watches cautiously, ready to grab their sweater back and hide it away in their inventory where he can’t get to it if he seems like he’s gonna take it. They love him a lot, but they’re not gonna let him get rid of their sweater.

Black Sans clasps his hands behind his back. They can see his concentration getting interrupted by understanding, and he leans back to stand upright again, giving them space to hoard their sweater in peace.

“This is dust,” he says quietly, watching their face.

Frisk nods, relaxing the seam and holding their sweater close to them again.

“You wish to keep this dust? It was left to you?” Black Sans is not ungentle, which is strange to see on him. When Frisk nods again, he says, “I understand.”

Looking at how Frisk cradles their sweater, with its many knots and shoddy repairs, he seems to come to some conclusion. His voice is surprisingly quiet and soft as he says, “Whoever they were, they must have loved you a great deal.”

Frisk nods all the harder. Their Underground took its time, and it had its problems, but it loved them. Even before all the monsters in it could agree, the Underground loved them. It took them in when they fell. It gave them a second chance when they hadn’t even realized how bad they wanted one. Maybe it gave them a first chance. It was the first home they ever had that they hoped they could keep.

“I apologize. I had not realized its significance. I will not take this from you,” Black Sans says, carefully switching his gaze away from their treasure so they know he isn’t planning on stealing it from them. “You have a right to keep and defend dust that has been passed to you. I appreciate the courage you have shown in being honest with me.”

Frisk smiles at him. It’s all they can do, when he’s being so nice to them.

“You may grieve, if you need to, in peace. Or, if you prefer to share, you may tell me anything you wish, at any time. I am sorry for your loss.”

If anyone else were saying it, it would be a platitude. But Black Sans shines with sincerity and understanding in every word, and Frisk has no idea what they did to make him act like this to them, but they love him even more right now. They love that he didn’t try to take it away from them, even though they look ratty and worn down next to him.

In the spirit of this trust, Frisk dares to push it just a little bit further.

There are new cuts, rips in the fabric that crisscross over their chest. There are always new cuts over their chest, because whenever their SOUL is summoned, the bone attack is an inch away from nicking their clothes, and not much further from cutting their person. Even the darning job that Blue Sans did for them, carefully thick and reinforced through means they didn’t totally understand when he explained it to them, is more of a frayed hole at this point. They haven’t quite been able to fix it themself. The damage is pretty bad.

They unfold it carefully in order to show Black Sans the hole, and look at him pleadingly. _Fix it_ , they try to say. _Please say you can fix it_.

Black Sans looks over the damage solemnly, though it can’t be easy to see much when the sweater is dark and already in bad condition, and he’s being so careful not to get too close to it.

“It’s been torn,” he notes. Frisk pushes it towards him a little more, so he can see the damage.

“May I touch it?” Black Sans asks. “I will not take it from you. You may, of course, tell me to stop at any time.”

Frisk holds it out. Black Sans glances up at them evenly, and waits in precise stillness with all the patience in the world.

Oh.

He won’t take it unless they say he can. Even holding it out with obvious intent isn’t enough. That’s…surprisingly thoughtful of him.

Slowly, they nod. He can touch it. He looks like he knows how to be careful.

Slowly and deliberately, Black Sans’s hands come up to position the fabric as delicately as if he were handling his own SOUL. He carefully minds the pointed tips of his phalanges so he won’t get caught on any loops.

Seeing him care so much about their ruined sweater, just because of what it means to them, fills Frisk with love.

Black Sans, gently moving the fabric to see each tear individually without tugging the whole thing apart, frowns at it.

“Your efforts to preserve it have been extensive. I must applaud you on the care taken in your repairs.” He runs one finger over a messy knot Frisk made before Blue Sans showed them how to fix it better. “I have been known to take on an occasional textile project myself, if you would like assistance with addressing the damage. It can be a benefit, occasionally, to have a second pair of hands for some repairs.”

Like a proper offer, he doesn’t imply that Frisk needs his help, or that he’s going out of his way to extend it. It’s just a statement: any hands will do, Sans has hands and is present, so he may as well work in tandem with them. If Frisk didn’t know that nearly every Sans has some sewing prowess, they could think he’s just offering to be there to hold and carry things.

Frisk does know better, and they know that even if he tries, Black Sans will eventually be overcome with the urge to show them how to do it right, because nearly every Sans likes teaching. Mostly, he likes knowing things and showing them off, Frisk is pretty sure, but he’s always patient and willing to work with them if they don’t understand.

Frisk hands over the sweater gratefully. As long as he understands that it’s important and they can’t lose it, they can trust Sans with it. He’ll help them.

Black Sans looks surprised to see Frisk’s hands leaving the sweater, but immediately he cradles it with even more reverence than they showed it. He’s seen it survive his magic laser skulls and the Gyftrot on a rampage and all of Frisk’s more acrobatic skids and dodges, but he holds it like…like it is what it is. Like it’s Frisk’s home.

They were right to trust him. Sans will help them. If it can get better, Sans will make it better.

Black Sans says, “I will do my best. If my skills are not sufficient to repair in its current form, the possibility exists that it can be salvaged in a smaller shape…perhaps something of a scarf, or a garment for the hands, if you prefer. I will consult you immediately if it should come to that. Will that suffice?”

Frisk nods vigorously, and smiles at him in relief. If he has it, then it’s gonna be okay.

“Very well,” he says solemnly, as if they’ve made a blood pact about it. “It may be expedient—that is, preferable and more streamlined—for me to keep this in a safe place as I conduct my evaluation on it. Will you allow me to place it in my room for the time being? If you wish, I can show you where and how it is kept, and you may visit it at any time.”

Frisk is really glad he’s taking this seriously and all, but they think Black Sans is kind of missing the point.

Even though it’s kind of a pain, they dig through their inventory for the notebook Slim gave them. Their hand feels nice and relaxed from their resting and their shower, and hardly as stiff as they thought it would be, so they have no trouble scrawling down, _I trust you._

They turn their notebook to face him and tap the massage. They tap it again, for emphasis.

Black Sans gives them a look that’s hard to decipher.

“…indeed,” he says, after a moment. “You do, don’t you?”

He holds the words awkwardly. They sound bizarre and incomprehensible to him, but they’re true and correct, so Frisk nods determinedly.

Black Sans is a good person. He could have left them to die, and it probably would have been smart to kill them, but he saved their life. He’s _Sans._ Frisk trusts him. The world could crash down around their ears and he would be the second monster they seek out, after Papyrus, who would probably already be with him anyway. They try to will this knowledge into his head.

“I will endeavor to honor your faith,” Black Sans says, so it must have worked a little bit. He folds their sweater into his inventory with precise, economical movements.

“For the time being, it would be wise for you to wear the stripes available to you—you need not keep the new sweater if you do not prefer it, but you ought to wear it in the meantime. Let me know if the fit needs to be adjusted; it will be less of an effort for me to fix it now than realize it later. I will be downstairs when you are ready. You must be very hungry by now, and my brother tends to create edible garbage if left unsupervised.”

As he’s speaking, Black Sans has already bustled their new black-and-purple sweater into their arms, and paused over their old clothes. He looks them over dubiously.

“Do you prefer that these are also…?”

Frisk shakes their head emphatically. The T-shirt is from Dancing World, and now that they have their ribbon, they’re satisfied. The pants are just beyond saving. They scribble down _BURN_ in their notebook.

Black Sans quirks a smile. “That can be arranged. I will see you in a moment, human—please prepare yourself for the best soup-and-sandwich experience of your young life.”

Frisk could eat straight garbage right now and be satisfied, they’re so hungry. They’re more than prepared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you missed your angst fix with how fluffy this chapter was, [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29271189)'s an AU of Whither Then where Red couldn't toss Frisk into another universe in the first place, so the events of Whither Then don't happen. Judgement hall battle in Underfell with no multiverse shenanigans involved.
> 
> Also, I'm considering changing my updating schedule. Currently it's every other Sunday, but I might change it to Saturdays, or possibly a weekday. Let me know if you've got any strong feelings about it--currently I post Sunday and spend the weekdays soaking in validation when people comment, but hey, if you're always desperately bored on Tuesdays and hoping for an update, I'll take it into consideration! And as always, you can check my tumblr for writing updates. Next post will probably be another chapter, but I'm trying to write some more in Mamma Mia, so we shall see how that goes.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading, and please remember to leave a comment!
> 
> [tumblr](hahanoiwont.tumblr.com)
> 
> [Frisk playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2nVPTmK6QPghQou3THiwTD?si=a4whCT3nQPiBRuKOtO_Z4g)   
>  [UF!Bros playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7mSUEPN0LoPWW1OzUXk081?si=g4fT1ey_SUqrBhb7AEG1SQ)   
>  [Whither Then playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6JQadwhVw5jTxvDhaVmZIm?si=3SMLdh7VRdK4ZcJbgijjeQ)


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